


Child of Old, Soldier of New

by FiraBloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur and Morgana act like the actual siblings they are, Arthur gives the best hugs, F/M, Harry is Merlin and Morgana's kid, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Merlin Doesn't Know He Has a Kid, Morgana acts like she knows what she's doing, Morgause is a Bitch, Powerful Harry, Protective Arthur, Time Travel, Well-Meaning Gwen, Well-meaning James and Lily, X2, but she really has no clue, slight angst, until he does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiraBloom/pseuds/FiraBloom
Summary: Morgana had a secret. She was with child when Merlin poisoned her. She was forced to leave the baby with people she thought would protect him, but something went terribly wrong. Centuries later, a child appeared. Unknown to the Wizarding World, they had a Child of the Old Religion living in their midst. What happens when Harry is returned to his original time?





	1. Goodbye, my Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I just wanted to say that I hope you guys like the story and don't be afraid to comment!.....And I would like to apologize for the terrible summary. It definitely isn't the best thing I've ever written. So, thank you for reading this story even though the summary wasn't that great! I promise the story is better.

A woman carefully maneuvered through the dark underbrush of the forest with slow, deliberate steps. Every few minutes, she would stop and glance behind her, listening intently for something, but when she didn’t hear anything, she would continue on her journey. The woman stayed in the shadows, never stepping into the light even though the only source of light was from the pale moon above.

Suddenly, there was a loud screech from the treetops, and a bird flew away with a loud flutter of wings. The woman gasped quietly in shock before stepping deeper into the shadows in an attempt to hide. The forest was eerily silent. No birds were chirping. No animals were rustling about in the undergrowth. There wasn’t even a wind blowing through the leaves.

After a few minutes of this absolute silence, the woman stepped out into the moonlight for the first time that night in order to check if the coast was clear.

The woman glanced around the forest with wide, fearful green eyes. Her skin was extremely pale, almost to the point that she looked ill, contrasting greatly with the large smudges of dirt on her arms and face. Her hair hung around her face in a mess of wild curls and tangles. She wrapped her plain black cloak tighter around herself, concealing a once priceless but now torn and stained emerald dress beneath it.

“You should not be here, milady.”

The woman jumped and spun around to face the person who scared her. An old woman stood behind her, a brown cloak hanging from her shoulders. 

“Please, I need help,” she begged the old woman. “I have nowhere else to go.”

The old woman looked at her impassively. “I’m sorry, but we cannot help you. It is too dangerous for us to harbour you. If the king found you with usー”

“He would kill us all,” the younger woman said, cutting the other off.

“No!” The old woman snarled. “He would not! He would kill my entire clan, but you would go back to your life of luxury in the castle, Lady Morgana.”

“Not if he knew I was with child.” Morgana said quietly as she pulled her cloak back to reveal her large, protruding stomach.” 

The old woman froze before shaking her head. “Everyone knows the king favors you. Even if he knew you were with child out of wedlock, he would allow you and the baby to live.”

Morgana’s face hardened. “Not when he realizes the child has magic.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. She looked at the younger woman appraisingly before stepping aside. “Come. Follow me. I’ll take you to our camp.”

Morgana smiled in relief. “Thank you! You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“I’m not doing this for you, milady.” 

Morgana’s face fell. “Why are you doing this then?”

“You have the ability to protect yourself, unlike your child. The baby is innocent and shouldn’t be harmed because of something it can’t help. How long have you been pregnant?”

“Eight months. The baby should be due in a month or so. I wanted to come to you early in case you refused to help me so I would still have enough time to find other druids who might be willing to aid me.”

The old woman nodded sagely. “Smart plan. But may I ask how you’ve been hiding your pregnancy in the castle? You have only been missing for a month. You must have been showing long before that. How were you able to hide it?”

Morgana nervously fiddled with her cloak, hiding her stomach more out of habit than necessity. “At first I was able to hide it by claiming the feasts were finally beginning to affect my figure, but by the fourth month I had to resort to concealing spells and loose, flowing dresses.”

Suddenly, the forest opened up into a large clearing full of tents. Morgana glanced around the clearing with thinly veiled awe, having never seen anything remotely like it before. The tents were almost in the formation of a small village, small alleyways, and roads dividing the tents. Small, sparkling orbs of light and brightly colored lanterns lit the way between the streets. Joyful laughter caught the lady’s attention causing her to turn towards the sound. A group of children was running around the camp playing hide and seek. Morgana’s lips formed a soft smile.

“Come along, milady. I’ll take you to my tent. We will have the privacy to speak freely there.”

Morgana nodded and hurriedly followed the old woman through the streets to one of the tents in the middle of the clearing. “Are you one of the leaders here?” She asked hesitantly as she ducked into the tent.

The old woman blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry; I haven’t told you anything about myself, have I? My name is Yseult, and yes, I am the leader of this community.”

Yseult motioned for her to sit on the small cot. Morgana carefully sat down on the cot, trying to find the most elegant and comfortable way to sit with her large stomach.

“So why have you come to us druids for help, milady?” Yseult asked as she pulled up a chair.

Morgana lifted her head high, trying to seem strong, but a glance to her tightly clenched hands told Yseult that the girl was extremely nervous. “I need somebody to help with the delivery when the time comes.”

Yseult cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is that all? Why not go to some midwife in town? Why come to us?”

“The child has magic; I couldn’t risk a midwife finding out and telling Uther about us.”

“Forgive me, milady, but how do you even know the child  _ has  _ magic? The baby hasn’t even left the womb yet. Even if it does have magic, it shouldn’t be manifesting yet,” Yseult said incredulously.

Morgana glared. “My child has magic; I can  _ feel  _ it! I can feel it pulsing against my own and changing with every flicker of the baby’s emotions!”

Yseult nodded carefully. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but you have to understand, I had to know. A child having magic when it is first born is extremely rare, but a child having magic in the womb? Unheard of.”   

Morgana relaxed a little at the woman’s words before sighing. “ I also have another reason for coming here.” Yseult cocked her eyebrow at the girl but didn’t say anything. Morgana continued hesitantly. “About a month ago, I was一” Morgana struggled to force the word out, “ _ poisoned _ . I was given the antidote in time to save my life, but I need to know if my baby will have any adverse reactions because of it.”

“ _ Poisoned _ ?!” Yseult exclaimed in shock. “What kind of poison was it?”

“Um, hemlock,” Morgana said before continuing quietly, “My sister said it was hemlock.”

Yseult paled when she heard the type of poison, accidentally missing the sentence that followed it. “I’m going to get a healer to check on the baby. I’ll be right back.” With that, she turned and practically ran out of the tent.

Morgana awkwardly sat on the bed for a few minutes before Yseult scurried back into the tent followed by a gentle looking man with salt and pepper hair. Immediately, the man began to examine her as he introduced himself. “Good evening, Lady Morgana. My name is David; I’m the physician here.” The man motioned to Yseult standing behind him. “Yseult told me you were poisoned during your pregnancy. Do you mind telling me how long ago that was?”

“About a month or so. I would have been around seven months pregnant then.”

The physician began to examine her pupils to see if they were larger than normal before grabbing her hand and staring hard at her cuticles. “How long did you go without the antidote?”

“Umm..” Morgana paused, “ Maybe three of four minutes? I’m not really sure. It felt like an eternity.”

“May I?” David asked, gesturing to her stomach. Morgana nodded before hesitantly pulling her cloak back to reveal her stomach. David carefully began to feel her stomach. “Has he been very active since then?”

At that moment, the baby gave a sharp kick. The physician chuckled. “I guess that answers that.” 

Morgana giggled quietly. “Yeah, he’s a kicker.”

“He?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always thought of him as a he. That’s not odd is it?”

“No, of course not. But just know the baby might not be a boy. It could be a girl.”

“And it could very well be a boy,” Morgana said stubbornly.

David looked as if he was going to start arguing with her before Yseult silenced him with a look. “A mother knows, David.”

The physician huffed, but continued his examination. After a few minutes, the man hummed quietly. “As far as I can tell the baby is healthy. You, on the other hand, are not. You’re running a dangerously high temperature, you look like you aren’t sleeping and haven’t eaten well in several months.”

Morgana looked at the man worriedly. “What...what happens if I can’t fix it? I’m not exactly in the best of positions to stay healthy these days. With all the stress and...my sister...” 

Yseult looked sharply at the young witch but didn’t say anything. Instead, it was David who spoke. “If your health continues to decline, you may lose the baby.”

Morgana paled drastically. “What? No! I can’t lose the baby because of this! I can’t- I can’t fix this! This is something I can’t change!”

David’s eyes widen at her sudden outburst. “Milady, you need to calm down! Please, take deep breaths, calm your heart rate.”

“Calm down? Calm down!” Morgana began to hyperventilate. “You just told me I could lose my  _ child _ ! You cannot expect me to  _ calm down _ !”

Suddenly she gasped and bent over, clutching at her stomach. “Milady?!” Yseult and David cried rushing to her side. “Milady, what’s wrong?”

“I think,” Morgana began faintly still clutching her stomach, “I think my water just broke.”

David’s eyes widen before turning to Yseult and ordering her to get his supplies. He turned back to Morgana and gently pushed her down onto the bed. “I need you to lie down, Lady Morgana. Are you in any pain? Does anything feel wrong?”

Morgana seemed to be in shock, though. “I can’t be having the baby now. It’s too early.”

“Milady,” David exclaimed before growling frustratedly, “Lady Morgana!”

Morgana snapped back to reality. The physician continued now that he had her attention. “Now, do exactly what I say. If we do this right, both you and the child will completely fine, but only if you  _ listen to me _ .”

Morgana nodded determinedly and a fire entered her eyes. “I’ll do what you ask.” Her eyes narrowed. “But know this, if  _ any  _ harm comes to my child, I will make you  _ beg _ for death. I will tear you apart limb from limb if so much as a hair on my baby’s head is hurt!”

David nodded somewhat cautiously before cocking an eyebrow at her. “Now if you’re finished, I believe we have a baby to deliver.”

* * *

After a long and gruelling four hour labor, a beautiful baby boy was born to Morgana Le Fay. The physician gently wrapped the little boy in a soft blanket before handing him to his mother. “I guess you were right,” David said with a smile, “It was a boy after all.”

Morgana smiled a proud, exhausted smile. “I told you he was a boy.”

“What are you going to name him?” Yseult asked quietly.

A far off look entered the witch’s eyes. “Hadrian,” she eventually said, “Hadrian Myrddin Le Fay. That shall be his name.”

“Do you mind me asking the origin of his name, milady?” Yseult asked curiously. She had never heard of the name Hadrian nor Myrddin before. It was also odd that the lady was giving her last name to the boy instead of giving him his father’s name. “Are they from a different language?”

Morgana nodded, never taking her eyes off her son. “Yes, Hadrian is Swedish, Myrddin is Welsh, and Le Fay, of course, is our own language. Myrddin is after his father and Le Fay after me. This way he is connected to his father and me while still having his own name.”

The little boy in her arms yawned suddenly, causing Morgana to coo at the sight. His eyelids scrunched together before blinking open to reveal large, startling emerald eyes. “He has my eyes!”

At the sound of her voice, Hadrian smiled brightly up at her. “And his father’s smile,” She said in a more subdued, sad voice.

Yseult motioned for David to leave the tent. “We’ll leave you two alone for a bit,”

“What? No,” Morgana said looking up, startled. She looked back down at the boy before forcing out, “I still need to talk to you about something.” 

The physician paused by the tent flap, but Yseult shooed him away. “Now, what is it you wanted to speak to me about, milady.”

Morgana looked down at her child, not knowing where to start. “I… I was hoping your camp would be willing to take him in.”

Yseult straightened immediately. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“He can’t stay with me; it’s too dangerous!” Morgana cried desperately, “If Uther finds Hadrian, he  _ will _ kill the boy. And as much as I love my sister, I don’t think she would have my child’s best interests at heart. She would use him to fight against the king. I can’t allow her to endanger my son.”

“What about the boy’s father?”

“He’s the one who poisoned me,” The older woman gasped, but Morgana ignored her and continued speaking. “And I will  _ not _ leave my child in his hands. Not with Hadrian’s life at stake. He has already proven himself to be a  _ traitor _ .”

Yseult seemed at a loss as to what to say. Eventually, she asked, “If the father tried to kill you and Hadrian, why did you name the boy after him?”

“Because he has一 _ had _ a good heart. He was a good man, always standing up for what was right. And I’m hoping Hadrian will turn out a little like him in those regards, only I hope Hadrian will stick to his morals better than his father did in the end,” Morgana gave a watery laugh, “Or maybe I’m holding onto some foolish hope that he actually loved me! That he would welcome Hadrian and me back with open arms if I showed up out of the blue. That there was a reason for him trying to kill me, other than hatred.”

Morgana snorted softly and rubbed her eyes harshly. “Either way, I want Hadrian to at least have a little piece of his father even if it is in name only.”

Yseult looked at the mother and son before sighing. “If you think it is best to leave the child here, we will take the child. I know a couple who have been trying to have a child; they would gladly take him in. But are you sure about this? You would leave your child to live with strangers?”

“It wouldn’t be all bad,” Morgana claimed. “ Hadrian would grow up in a loving, peaceful community. He would be far enough away from Camelot to be safe from the king. He would grow up knowing he is safe and loved.” She sniffed quietly. “And it wouldn’t be like I was abandoning him. I would come and visit when I knew it was safe.”

  Yseult nodded sadly. She had had a feeling that Morgana would not be deterred from her decision. “You should stay for the night, Lady Morgana. Take some time to recover. Spend some time with your boy.”

Morgana shook her head sadly. “I have to go. I never meant to spend the full night. Morgause will notice if I’m missing for so long.”

She very carefully stood up on shaking legs. Yseult hurried to her side to help support her. “Milady, I really must insist! You’re too weak to make it to wherever you’re going! You can barely stand.”

Morgana seemed to straighten and stand through willpower alone. She gently handed Hadrian over to the old druid. “I will be fine, but, please, look after Hadrian while I’m away. I’ll try to come by in a month or so to see him, but I’ll only come if I know it’s safe.”

Yseult handed her the baby back. “At least take the time to say your goodbyes. After all, you don’t know when you’ll come back. I’ll be outside when you’re ready to make your departure.” With that, the old woman turned and strode out of the tent.

Hadrian stirred in her arms, sensing the slight tension in the air. His eyes began to water and tiny little sniffles disturbed the quiet. Morgana began to rock him gently in her arms. “Oh, don’t cry, Hadrian! If there was any other choice I’d….” Morgana trailed off before shaking her head. “This is the only way I can ensure your safety, darling. In fact...” Morgana quickly unclasped the necklace around her neck and clasped it around Hadrian’s neck. It was a simple necklace with a plain silver chain and a symbol of the Triple Goddess dangling from the middle. Her sister had given it to her after placing all the protective spells she knew on it because of the little….incident with Merlin. Morgana placed her hand on the necklace and channeled her magic into the small charm, strengthening the protection spells to their capacity. Hadrian giggled quietly when his mother’s eyes flashed a bright, pure gold.

“There! Now I’ll know you’ll always be protected! Even when I’m not around to protect you.”

The child’s sniffles returned with a vengeance with those words and increased until Hadrian was crying. Morgana held him close and began to sing the only lullaby she knew. 

“Hush now, my baby. Be still, love, don’t cry. Sleep as your dreams set you free. Sleep and remember, my last lullaby, so I’ll be with you in your dreams.” Hadrian seemed to be slowly calming down so she continued, “Darling, you’re safe here and safe may you stay for I have a dream just for you. Grow little baby. I’ll be back someday. I’ll come back for you….”

Morgana smiled when she saw Hadrian drift to sleep. She kissed his head gently, ignoring the wetness in her eyes, before exiting the tent. She gently handed Hadrian over to Yseult. “I really must go now.” She looked up at the old druid pleadingly, “Make sure he always,  _ always,  _ wears this necklace. Never let him take it off. A High Priestess of the Old Religion has cast protection spells on it, so it should keep him safe, but only if he  _ wears it _ .”

“What if somebody takes it from him,” Yseult asked worriedly. Although she loved her fellow druids dearly, she knew there were a few who would be willing to steal from a child if it meant protection from the king.

Morgana shook her head. “It’s charmed so that nobody can take it from him, but he can willing take it off if he wants.” Morgana sent Yseult a small glare. “Just make sure he never takes it off. He won’t be protected if he does.” 

Yseult nodded determinedly. She would not let the small child in her arms be hurt even if the king himself tried to kill the boy. Morgana smiled sadly before turning on her heel and leaving the small camp. She paused when she got to the forest line and looked back before looking up at the stars.

“Please, Triple Goddess, protect my child. Protect my Hadrian.” Morgana wiped a single tear from her cheek and fled into the darkness of the forest. 


	2. The Morality of Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it right or wrong to kidnap people? You decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! I hope you guys like it. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think! Enjoy!
> 
> ...I just realised I haven't put a disclaimer on this...Just so you guys know, I don't own Harry Potter or Merlin. If I did things would be a LOT different.

Twenty-four people were crowded around a dining table having a heated debate. Everybody was arguing except for the old man sitting at the head of the table. His hands were in a prayer position as he rested his head against them. He held the air of someone important as if he was the leader of this small, ragtag group, but his eyes were cold and unforgiving, although the group did not notice this.

“Enough,” He said harshly. Immediately the group fell silent and they turned to stare at him. “This is not helping. We shall talk about this at the next meeting. Meeting adjourned.”

The group nodded and soft chatter filled the room as the people began to disperse.

“Lily,” The old man suddenly called, stopping a red-haired woman in her tracks. “Can I speak to you for a moment.”

The woman glanced at the bespeckled man beside her, but the man drew his attention back to him by saying, “Alone.”

Lily motioned to the dark haired man to leave. The pair stayed silent as the last few stragglers left the room. Once they left, she began. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Professor Dumbledore?”

“Please, Lily, you are not in school anymore. There’s no need to call me Professor.” There was a strange twinkle in his eyes. He motioned to the tea set in front of him. “Tea?”

She shook her head no. “Really?” He hummed and poured himself a cup. “I hope you don’t mind if I do. I feel like a good cuppa helps relieve the stress that these...trying times cause.”

Lily’s face remained impassive. “I believe you wanted to talk to me about something?”

The professor nodded and swirled the tea in his cup. “Yes, you’re right. We should be moving on to more important matters.” He took a sip of tea. “How is the translation coming on that book I gave you?”

Lily’s calm demeanor broke and she began to fiddle with her hands nervously. “About that....” 

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at her. “You  _ are _ translating it. Aren’t you, Ms. Evans?”

“It’s  _ Mrs. Potter _ ,” she snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lily. You must excuse this old man. I’m afraid my memory is not what it once was.” He took another drink of his tea. “But about this translation.”

It was obvious she was still frustrated with the professor’s slip up with her name, but she answered anyway. “I’ve...translated the book.”

Dumbledore immediately set down his cup of tea and folded his hands, his eyes trained intently on the younger woman. “And? Was I correct? Did you find something that might end this war?”

“Yes, but, Professor, I don’t think we should use this spell.”

“And why not?” There was something dark in the professor’s tone.

Lily ran a hand through her hair. “Professor Dumbledore, this spell literally calls the person who has the power to defeat Vol- you-know-who to us. Yes, we would be stopping the Dark Lord, but we would also be dragging this person away from their life and into a war. They might not even be willing to fight for us!”

Dumbledore’s face turned steely. “Lily, this is war. There comes a time when people have to make tough decisions for what is best for the greater good.”

“But, Professor, surely the life of one man is just as important as the lives of others?”

“Think of it this way. Which would you choose? The life of one man or the lives of twenty children?”

She spluttered. “But-but--You can’t expect me to answer that?!”

“This is war, Lily! The life of one man is not more important than the lives of the entire Wizarding World! Do you understand?”

“But this isn’t right.”

“The lines become blurred when it comes to war. We start living our lives in shades of grey.”

Lily sent a weak glare at the old man. “For your information, I still don’t agree with this.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to see the necessity of our actions.”

Lily seemed to curl in on herself. “This sucks.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “I have to agree, my girl. I have to agree.”

There were a few minutes of silence before Lily asked quietly, “Are we really going to do this ritual?”

“Yes. I do believe we are. It is for the best.”

Lily sighed. “Then we must prepare. We can only do the spell on the Summer Solstice. That’s when the magic will be strongest.”

“And so the sun shall be the herald for the saviour,” Dumbledore whispered to himself before asking his former student, “When is the Summer Solstice this year? I’m afraid I haven’t kept up with the old ways.”

“July thirty-first. This year's solstice is on July thirty-first.”

Dumbledore looked up at her, startled. “The prophecy…”

“What did you say, Professor? I didn’t quite hear you?”

He shook his head and smiled. “It was nothing, my girl. Just an old man talking to himself. Now we must discuss this ritual.”

Lily nodded and began to explain the ritual. And so, the defeater of Grindelwald and the brightest witch of her age began to discuss how they were going to summon the savior of the Wizarding World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, just a little note. The Summer Solstice isn't in July. It's in late June. I just took a bit of dramatic license and changed that so it would be more interesting in the story. Oh! And I bet a few of you are wondering why I used Hermione's title or whatever for Lily. I feel like it's either an age thing or a class thing. So every year there will be 'the brightest witch of her age'. That year, it happened to be Lily.
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter! Sorry if it's a little short, but this wasn't a really important chapter. It was more of a necessity than anything else. It'll explain what happens later. More interesting chapters are coming. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter and don't be afraid to tell me what you think!


	3. Lullabies, Knights, and Magic. A Perfect Combination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana visits Hadrian, but disaster strikes shortly after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! I hope you like this next chapter! Thanks for reading. I would also like to say I don't own Harry Potter, Merlin, or the lullabies I used in this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy the story!

“…Oh, my darling! Oh, my darling! Oh, my darling, Clementine! Drove she ducklings to the water every morning just at nine, hit her foot against a splinter, fell into the foaming brine…”

A sweet voice rang out across the camp as a young woman hung clothes out on a clothesline to dry. She had a gentle, plain look about her. Her mousy brown hair cascaded down her back contrasting greatly with the simple white dress she was wearing. The only color in the woman’s outfit was the pale blue ribbon she had used to tie back part of her hair.

“…Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles, soft and fine! But, alas, I was no swimmer, So I lost my Clementine…”

The camp was rather empty, only a few people milling about as she sung the lullaby. A quiet giggle caught the woman’s attention causing a bright smile to appear on her face. Still singing, the woman pulled back one of the sheets hanging on the line to reveal a large woven basket rocking slightly because of the breeze. A baby boy with bright green eyes and an infectious smile grinned up at the young woman.

“…In my dreams, she’s still with me, broken garments soaked in brine. Though in life I used to hug her, in death I draw the line…”

The young woman reached down and gently pulled the child out of his basket. She hugged him close and smiled down at him. “Well, hello, Little Hadrian! Are you enjoying my song?”

The boy laughed and grabbed ahold of the blue ribbon in her hair, tugging at it. She gently pulled the ribbon out of his hands. “No, no, no. We do not go around grabbing other people’s things.”

Hadrian pouted and started to sulk.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Hadrian!” She paused and grinned. “After all, you know what today is…”

Hadrian cocked his head. “Your mummy’s coming, Hadrian! She’s coming to visit today!”

Hadrian shrieked excitedly, a large smile appearing on his face.

“In fact, she’s already here.”

The woman jumped and turned around. Morgana was standing behind her with a small, sad smile playing on her face.

“My lady! Are you alright?” The woman gasped as she rushed over to help the King’s ward. Morgana was extremely pale and had dark circles under her eyes. Her once beautiful hair was a mess of tangles that fell partly into her face. She leaned heavily on one of the clothes line poles, trying to block the fact that her dress was almost in rags and seemed to hang off her. A worn black bag hung off her left shoulder.

Morgana waved her off. “I’m fine, Nicole. I just want to hold my son.”

Nicole’s arms tightened around the child subconsciously, unwilling to give up the baby. “Are...Are sure? You look like a strong breeze will knock you over.”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ll be  _ fine _ . Now, give me my son.”

Nicole sighed and hesitantly handed Hadrian over to her before a soft smile played over Nicole’s lips “He really is a beautiful boy.”

“Yes, he is,” Morgana smiled gently before freezing and sending a sharp glare at the druid. “Well? What are you still doing here?”

Nicole smiled nervously and motioned behind her. “You’re right...I’ll just be...going.”

Nicole glanced one last time at the child in Morgana’s arms before she turned on her heels and ran. Morgana huffed and rolled her eyes. “She really is a submissive, little thing, isn’t she?” Hadrian pouted and gave her a sad, disappointed look. “Oh, don’t be like that, darling! I didn’t mean anything bad by it; I was just stating a fact. Not everybody can be a leader, you know. Some people have to be followers.”

Hadrian looked up at her sadly before deciding to forgo the sadness and instead, play with her hair. Morgana giggled quietly. Slowly, her giggles tapered off until she was just looking down sadly at her son. “Oh, Hadrian, sometimes I wonder if I’ve done the right thing.”

Hadrian cocked his head and furrowed his brow at her, not understanding her sadness. She continued talking more to herself than him. “Maybe you would be safer with Morgause and me instead of hidden away in this druid camp. After all, surely you would be better protected with a high priestess and her apprentice than with people who have sworn against violence.”

Hadrian looked up at her worried before a look of determination crossed his face. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and balled his hands together. The small flash of gold went unnoticed by Morgana but she did notice when he laughed happily and opened his hands. Her confusion turned to awe when a green and gold butterfly fluttered out of his hands and around her before eventually settling in her hair.

Morgana gently coaxed the butterfly onto her finger. “And then I realize you’re too powerful for your own good. Morgause would only use you, and Uther...well, we both know what Uther would do to us…” 

The butterfly fluttered away.

Morgana shook her head and forced a smile on her face. “Enough of this depressing subject, though. Morgause taught me a new spell the other day.” She paused before correcting herself. “Well, technically she cast the spell on one of my necklaces but I’ve practiced it enough on my own that I think I can do it now!”

She reached down and gently tugged the necklace she had given him out of the plain white cloth he was wrapped in. She whispered a few words, smiling slightly when Harry giggled when her eyes turned gold. She leaned back with a satisfied smile on her face. “There! Now, I’ll always know if you’re safe or not. The necklace connects you and me. If you’re ever hurt or in trouble, I’ll feel it, and I’ll be able to come rescue you.” 

She smiled when Hadrian grabbed the silver charm out of her hands and immediately stuck it in his mouth. "You are just too cute for your own good sometimes."

Morgana wrinkled her nose when she finally realized what he was wrapped in. "Really? A white blanket for a baby? You and I both know how messy you can get. Plus, white is truly not your color, darling; it washes you out. It's things like this that make me wonder if that woman has any idea what she's doing."

A small smirk formed on her face. "That doesn't matter, though, because guess what, Hadrian, Mummy brought you a special gift!"

She reached into her bag and pulled out an emerald blanket with black edging. It was obviously made by hand. Morgana nervously fiddled with one of the small holes in the blanket. "It's not much. I never was any good at knitting, so there's probably a bunch of mistakes in it, but I wanted to make you something. And...I have a lot of time on my hands since Morgause isn't always...around." Her eyes widened and she quickly stuttered out, "Not that I’m complaining! She says she’s out helping other magic users, and I can’t fault her for that. She’s already helping me enough as it is!”

Morgana carefully unwrapped the white blanket and rewrapped Hadrian in the emerald blanket. "There! That's much better," she said more to herself than her baby. She fiddled with the blanket until his large but slightly crooked, cursive name was displayed on the front. "It took me forever to get your name right, but I think it looks decent." She smiled and winked at him. "Between you and me, this blanket is  _ much _ softer than that other one Nicole forced you into."

Hadrian giggled and burrowed further into the blanket. Suddenly, there was a loud commotion coming from the far end of the camp. Morgana was immediately alert, scanning the camp for any dangers. Somebody behind her grabbed her shoulder. She drew the knife from her belt spinning around to hold it at the stranger’s throat. Nicole’s wide, terrified eyes were what greeted her. And if it took Morgana a few minutes to remove the knife then so what?

“Mi-milady…” Nicole stuttered, “We...we need to go! Camelot knights have found us!”

Morgana immediately tensed. “What?! Does the king know about Hadrian and me?”

“I think they just found our camp, milady. But we need to get you out of the camp before they find you!”

Morgana nodded and clutched Hadrian closer. “What’s the quickest way out of here?”

“Follow me. I can get you out of here without being noticed.”

Nicole immediately started running through the camp, dodging various tents and panicked druids with Morgana following right behind her. Every few minutes they would pause and duck behind a tent in order to hide from a few stray knights. For a moment, Morgana swore she saw a flash of golden hair that could only be Arthur’s, but it was gone before she could tell. Eventually, the two women made it to the edge of the camp before disaster struck.

“You there! Stop by order of the king!”

A terrified look past between the druid and sorceress before they started running. Loud shouts sounded from the knights behind them signifying they had taken chase. The two flew through the woods, the trees passing by them in a blur. Morgana struggled with keeping up with Nicole. She wasn’t exactly healthy enough to be running through the woods for goddess knows how many miles not to mention she was carrying a baby.

She yelped when her foot caught on a tree root. She barely had enough control to be able to protect Hadrian from the fall. Nicole hurried back with a worried expression on her face.

“Are you all right?”

Morgana shook her head. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Nicole knelt done and felt her ankle. “I think it’s just sprained.”

Loud crashes echoed through the forest. Nicole quickly helped Morgana up, watching the forest for signs of the knights all the while.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. The Valley of Fallen Kings is just up ahead. Try to make it there as fast as you can. I’m gonna circle back and lead the knights away from you. I’ll try to meet up with you when I can,” Nicole said flustered.  

  “No, I can’t let you do that! They’ll catch you. It’s a suicide mission!”

Nicole eyes’ hardened. “I’ll be fine. And anyway, you have Hadrian to worry about. Just make sure you keep him safe.”

Morgana nodded and clutched Hadrian closer to her. “You’re right. I wish you the best of luck then.”

“You too. I hope to see you at the Valley of the Fallen Kings. If...if I don’t make it back, I suggest you get as far away from here as possible.”

With one last glance at Hadrian, Nicole turned and ran the opposite direction. Slowly, Morgana began to limp towards the direction Nicole had pointed towards. The shouts grew quieter as Nicole drew them away. Fog began to creep around her ankles, and the terrain began to get rockier with every step. A sharp gasp left her lips when her already weakened ankle turned once more and she went skidding down the hill.

“Hmfff!” Morgana groaned when she finally stopped at the bottom of the hill. A quiet whimper caught her attention causing Morgana to go wide-eyed with terror.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” Morgana repeated nervously as she quickly checked over Hadrian. Besides two tearful eyes, the child was alright. 

“Oh, thank the goddess!” Morgana whispered as she hugged him close. “I would never be able to forgive myself if you were hurt.”

She moved her leg and immediately hissed. She definitely wouldn’t be able to move anytime soon. Glancing around at her surroundings told her that although it wasn’t the best place to be stuck in, it definitely wasn’t the worse.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait until Nicole gets back,” Morgana mumbled. 

The shouts of the knights slowly faded until Morgana could barely hear them. “I guess she wasn’t really a follower after all.”

Hadrian sniffed loudly as his eyes welled up and his lips began to tremble. Morgana began to panic again. Although the knights sounded like they were far away, there may always be some close by. Hadrian’s wails would be a beacon to where they were at if he started crying.

“No, darling, no! Don’t cry! Please, don’t cry. Mummy’s got you! You’re safe here.”

Hadrian began to sob.

“Okay, um…” Morgana paused before singing hesitantly, “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green. When I am queen, dilly, dilly, you shall be king.”

Hadrian’s cries began to quiet slightly.

“Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so? ‘Twas my own heart dilly, dilly, that told me so…”

Hadrian smiled brightly up at his mother when she finished the song, even though his eyes were still tinged red from his crying. 

“See, darling? You’re all right. Everything’s fine…”

The hours went by slowly with Morgana singing to Hadrian whenever he looked as if he was going to start crying again. The sky got darker and darker until Morgana was nervously waiting in the dead of the night with only the pale moon to provide any light. She carefully positioned herself so that she was hidden in the shadows. The silence began to eat away at the Lady before she began to talk to Hadrian in order to fill the quiet.

“Morgause has started to teach me a lot, Hadrian. I wasn’t very good at the beginning, but I’m a fast learner, and she claims I’m extremely powerful for being so young. I’m not sure if I quite believe her, though.”

She sighed and leaned back against the rock behind her. “She says it’s time that we start preparing for war. That it’s time to teach me how to use my magic as a weapon, but I don’t really want to do that. I know I should since Uther would have us killed, but...I just can’t bring myself to. Magic is such a beautiful thing, Hadrian. There’s so much light and warmth.” 

Morgana flicked her hand slightly and a small silver orb appeared above each of her fingers. She twirled her fingers and watched them do intricate patterns while they tried to follow her fingers. Hadrian stared at her fingers with a rapt attention, his eyes never leaving the orbs. “Every time I do this it reminds of the stories one of my old nurses used to tell me. They were always full of magic, and fairies, and beautiful people. All of the stories had love conquering all else. ” 

Her smile faded along with the orbs, leaving them in darkness again. “But that’s not true nowadays. Love doesn’t exist, or at least not in Camelot. That city is governed by fear and hatred. Even Mer--,” She cut herself off before shaking her head. “Even  _ he  _ feared me at the end. Why else would he poison me? No, there is no such thing as true love.”

She sighed to herself and looked around the clearing once more. It was still empty, not a sound coming from the forest. “Nicole should have been here by now.” Morgana said nervously, “Something must have happened to her.” 

The moon was high in the sky. Morgana worried her lip. “Morgause will know I’m gone by now. She’ll probably use the same spell I cast on your necklace to track us here. Looks like she’s going to find out about you one way or another.”

Suddenly her skin prickled, and she could feel a strong magic fill the air. Morgana’s eyes widened slightly and a faint golden shimmer appeared in them due to the magic surrounding the mother and son, unknown to the sorceress. She looked around nervously. “Morgause. It must be Morgause trying to find me.”

Nevertheless, she clutched Hadrian close to her chest in slight fear. The magic began to increase until it seemed to crackle in the air around the duo. A wind began to swirl around them, whipping Morgana’s hair into her face. The magic seemed to press in, making it almost impossible to breathe. She gasped helplessly for breath. This couldn’t be Morgause; this was something else entirely. Her mind began to get fuzzy from lack of oxygen, and she racked her brain for some kind of spell, but she couldn’t think of anything. Morgana was beginning to regret postponing her training in combative spells.

A shrill cry drew Morgana’s attention to the bundle in her arms. Hadrian was writhing in her arms. His eyes were wide with a combination of fear and pain, but what shocked Morgana the most was the fact that his eyes were a pure, unadulterated gold, not a single fleck of green in them.

He wailed again, and Morgana realized what the problem was. The magic wasn’t just pressing in on her; it was pressing in on her son as well. In fact, it seemed like the magic was focusing more on him instead of her. Without even realizing it, Morgana’s eyes flashed a bright gold, and Hadrian paused in his wailing before he started shrieking, the pain returning with a vengeance.

The wind swirled around the bundle in her arms, forming a small cyclone as it tore at Hadrian’s blanket and hair. The wind spun faster and faster, slowly enclosing on the tiny baby. Morgana curled around him, trying to protect her son, but it was too late. The cyclone swirled faster and the pressure around the baby increased beyond what Morgana thought was possible.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The magical wind and pressure disappeared. The forest returned to what it once was. Absolutely nothing magical seemed to be happening. Morgana looked around the clearing warily. Something must have happened. Nervously, she glanced down to check on Hadrian before freezing.

A chilling scream left the sorceress’ lips. Her arms were empty; her son had disappeared, blanket and all. She stretched out her magic, searching for her son’s magical signature. She sobbed when she couldn’t find a trace of Hadrian. Morgana’s eyes hardened and she stretched out her magic even further, searching through Camelot and when she did not find him there, through the five kingdoms.

There was a quiet yelp as a figure tumbled down the same hill Morgana fell down hours before. The woman groaned and pushed back her hair to reveal that it was, in fact, Nicole. She glanced worriedly at the hunched over form of the lady before she hurried over to her.

“Milady? Milady, are you all right?”

Morgana ignored her and continued her search.

“Milady?” Nicole frowned when she realized was in some kind of a daze. She reached out and shook her slightly. “Morgana, answer me!”  
The movement startled her and caused her magic to snap back into her body. She gave a pained whimper before turning her furious eyes on the druid. “YOU IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE _ANY_ IDEA WHAT YOU’VE JUST DONE?!?!”

Nicole flinched back before holding her head up defiantly. “No, actually, I  _ don’t _ . While you were down here going mental,  _ I  _ was running for my life and leading those knights away from  _ you _ ! Now, pull yourself together, woman!”

Morgana looked as if she had been slapped. “How dare you say that to me! Do you have any idea what I have been through the past few hours?”

“Oh, yeah,” Nicole snarled before she could continue, “Because sitting down here with Hadrian was  _ such  _ a hardship compared to me putting my life on the line for you!”

Instead of the fiery temper Nicole was expecting, she was greeted with tearful eyes and quiet sobs. Her eyes widened, and Nicole quickly hugged Morgana close. “Oh, I’m sorry, milady! I shouldn’t have yelled at you! My temper got the best of me. It’s been a stressful day.”

“N-no it’s not that. It’s Hadrian,”  Morgana sobbed.

Nicole’s heart sank and fear flickered in her eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Hadrian’s gone!”

“What do you mean he’s gone?!”

“I don’t know!” Morgana wailed. “We were sitting down here because I couldn’t climb up this godforsaken hill with my ankle when this wind started and this magic started to press against us. It stopped after a few minutes, but when it did, Hadrian disappeared! I was using my magic to search for him, but then you had to come along and break my concentration!”

The small amount of anger that had filtered in towards the end of her sentence faded, and she was left sobbing. “Oh goddess, I promised to protect. I was supposed to keep him  _ safe _ , and I failed him. The one time he needed me to be there for him, and I couldn’t come through. I didn’t know how to protect him.”

Nicole stared Morgana in shock, not knowing what to say. Subconsciously, her hand slipped from the comforting position on the sorceress’ back and she leaned slightly away from the other woman, leaving Morgana alone in her anguish. A heavy silence hung between the two magic users, only interrupted by Morgana’s hiccuping sobs. As the minutes passed, her cries slowly stopped until all that was left were silent tears running down her cheeks.

Morgana roughly rubbed her eyes, and stood up, ignoring the throbbing in her ankle. She determinedly limped across the clearing, with slow, painful steps. Morgana was halfway across the clearing before Nicole noticed she had moved at all.

“Where…Where are you going?” Nicole called quietly.

Morgana paused but didn’t look back. “I’m going to find my son and protect him ‘til my dying day. And if that means having Morgause teach me how to use my magic as a weapon then so be it.”

Morgana disappeared into the darkness, leaving a silent, heartbroken Nicole in her wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think? Tell me down there in the comments! Sorry if the lullabies are bothering you. Kinda have a mild obsession with any kind of music. The lullabies will stop now that we've gotten past baby Harry.


	4. There is Nothing Good About Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily realizes that resorting to kidnapping might not have been such a good idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Sorry for the wait, but here's the next chapter. Hope you guys like it!

Lily meticulously painted the last rune onto the bottom of the blood red, circular rug in her living room. The look on her face was one of pure concentration, with her eyes trained on the rug and her tongue sticking out of her mouth slightly. Just as she was adding the last stroke of the rune, a sudden knock on the door caused her to jump slightly. She glanced down at the rune in terror, worried she had messed up the entire rug before sighing in relief when she saw it was fine.

Lily stood carefully before stormed over to the door and flung it open. “ _ You’re late. _ ”

Dumbledore stood in the doorway, not looking sheepish at all. “I’m sorry, my dear, but something came up at the office.”

“ _ Something came up at the office!? _ ” Lily snarled, “You’ve got to be kidding me! You’ve told me repeatedly that this was more important than anything else in this godforsaken war! I’ve been working on this ritual for months now! I haven’t been eating or sleeping! I’ve been ignoring James for this project! He knows something’s up.” She gave a sad smile. “He’s worried about me, I can tell. He keeps trying to spend more time with me. He’d leave little notes, flowers. Hell, he even called in sick to work in order to surprise me and spend the day with me.” 

Her eyes snapped up to Dumbledore’s. “And do you know what I told him?” Lily asked silkily.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but Lily bulldozed over him with the same sickly sweet tone, “I told him  _ that he was being stupid _ . That I didn’t have time for his  _ lovesick idiocies _ . He’s been giving me the cold shoulder ever since. Oh sure, he still comes home every night, still tries to spend time with me, but he’s much more reserved than he has ever been with me in his life.”  

Her voice took a dangerous tone suddenly. “All because you told me the fate of the wizarding world depended on this ritual being _absu-fucking-lutely_ correct. And now you tell me you almost _ruined_ this entire ritual--and my relationship with my husband, might I add--because something came up at the office? You bastard!”

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback by her fiery temper. “I’m sorry, my girl. I didn’t realize this assignment was upsetting you so much. Maybe I’ve been putting too much pressure on you these past few months, but you must understand, it  _ was  _ necessary.”

Lily continued to glare at him in aggravation. “That doesn’t explain why you almost ruined this entire ritual by _being late_. You know we can only perform this ritual when the sun is at the highest point in the sky during the summer solstice. If we miss it, we’ll have to wait another year, and the Order won’t be able to last much longer without anything or anyone to rally behind.” She shook her head and sighed. “Never mind. You can explain yourself later. Let’s get started.”

Lily hurriedly ushered the Headmaster inside and lead him to the rug she had been painting on. “I think I drew all the runes correctly, but since I did it alone,” she glared at him. “I’m not sure the runes are entirely correct. Check them over quickly before I bring it outside. We don’t want to be bringing back just half of our saviour, now do we?”

Dumbledore carefully nodded as he inspected each rune. When he finished looking at the last rune, he nodded in satisfaction before turning to Lily. “You’ve done a wonderful job, my dear.”

Lily rolled her eyes as she flicked her wand, causing the rug to roll itself up and float out the door. “We’re on a crunch for time, Professor. We have no time for flattery.”

She turned and followed the rug out the door. She automatically walked to the large clearing at the center of her garden and rolled out the large rug, making sure that the appropriate lined up with the corresponding directions. The blood red carpet stood out starkly against the surrounding odd assortment of violets, sunflowers, beeblossoms, phloxes, poppies, and irises.

Dumbledore wandered into the garden. “Why, Lily! I didn’t know you gardened!”    

“I don’t,” Lily said as she finished rearranging the rug, “This is James’ garden.”

Dumbledore’s step faltered and he blinked in shock before he smiled brightly. “With this much talent, you would think he would have done better in Herbology!”

Lily snorted and looked at him incredulously. “I was joking, Professor.”

“I know, my dear,” He winked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. He turned and sighed. “You two truly are meant to be.”

Lily stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “We’ll see about that  _ after  _ he learns about what I’ve done.”

The Headmaster looked at her in pity. “I’m sure he will understand, my girl. You’re doing this to save the entire Wizarding World. You’re trying to protect him.”

“I doubt he’ll see it like that,” she muttered to herself before spinning to face him, “We only have a few minutes before the sun is at the highest point in the sky. Do you remember how we’re going to perform the ritual?”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “You and I will be on opposite sides of the carpet; you on the east side since your magic is young and exuberant and me on the west since my magic old and powerful.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “I really wish you wouldn’t say it like that.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her and continued to go over the ritual. “Once the sun is at its highest, we’ll begin the ritual. We’ll pool our magic together to open the portal. Then, when we have the portal stabilized, you’ll pull back your magic and use it to contain the portal while I try to summon our saviour.”

She nodded. “And if you don’t have the power to summon him…”

Dumbledore looked slightly disgruntled about the assumption he wouldn’t be able to able to summon their supposed saviour. “If something occurs that inhibits me from completing the ritual, I will absorb energy from the surrounding plants and wildlife.” 

“But not from me!” his former student cut in, “You  _ can’t _ draw magic from me. If things go sideways I  _ have  _ to be able to close the portal. I won’t be able to do that if half my magic is being used to sustain you.”

“I know, my girl. I  _ know _ . Do not mistake me for a fool,” the old man finally snapped.

Lily winced and ducked her head. “Sorry. I”m just worried is all.” She glanced up at the sky. “It’s almost time. Let’s begin.”

The two quickly walked to opposite sides of the rug. Closing their eyes, they searched for their magical cores. Lily couldn’t help but smile a warm, carefree smile when she found hers. It was centered in her heart, but it seemed to flit about her body with a wild happiness for being sought out. It swirled and pulsed in her body, causing her heart to race in a way that only happened when she was with James. With barely a thought, her magic flooded down her arms, collecting in the palms of her hands just barely beneath the skin. Unfortunately, it stayed there, buzzing beneath her skin but not venturing into the outside world. Furrowing her brow, Lily focused on her magic and  _ pushed _ .

A gasp left her lips, and Lily’s eyes flew open. She stared in awe at her hands. A ball of pure, unadulterated magic swirled above her palm in intricate patterns. It shimmered and sparkled in a way that would make even the brightest jewels look like gravel. Its golden hue put even the sun to shame.

She looked over at Dumbledore and saw that he had also managed to call his magic into the physical world. A quick glance at the sky told her everything she needed to know. The sun was directly overhead. It was time.

Lily nodded to the old Headmaster and simultaneously, they raised their arms and pushed their magic into the circle created by the two of them. Her eyes narrowed in confusion when their magic didn’t automatically combine. In fact, they seemed to… repel each other. The color of his magic was also odd. Whereas her magic was a bright, lively gold, his magic seemed dulled. Instead of flitting about wildly, it would remain completely still before striking out violently. 

“Professor!” She called out, trying to keep the worry from seeping into her voice, but failing, “Our magics aren’t connecting on their own! We need to force them together!”

Dumbledore nodded in determination and a look of pure concentration passed over his face. Lily turned her focus onto her own magic and tried to mentally propel her magic into Dumbledore’s. Slowly but surely, their magics inched together until finally they combined. She couldn’t help but smile in relief. They could create the portal now.

Lily took a deep breath trying to calm her nerves before speaking, “Cl¯æne a mûð ymbe rýmet ðêana s¯æl.*”

“Beæftan stundgêo−gêara hâr,gêara forð forðbie,” Dumbledore continued.

Lily tried to confidently say her lines. “Witodlic wiðæftan prêowthwîl ðêos ierfian hwîlum whilomâlimpan gengde.”

A wind began to swirl around the two of them. Lily’s hair whipped around her face, and Dumbledore’s silver beard fluttered over his shoulder. Their magic began to crackle and spark wildly. It pressed heavily on the two of them, leaving them gasping for breath.

Together, they chanted, “Orgyte bâm port betwêonan eofor fullan dôgor−gerîm!”

Everything became still and completely silent. Lily looked around in confusion. It should have worked. It should have created--

She was almost thrown off her feet by an explosion of pure magic. Golden cyclone was swirling just above the scarlet rug. It twisted and turned, biting at the duo’s skin and clothes. This magic was wild and pure, nothing like the magic they used now. The magic of this century was a candle light compared to the inferno of this new, powerful magic. When she pulled back her magic, it didn’t even make a dent in the swirling vortex. In fact, it seemed to make it even more powerful, like it was being undiluted.

Lily shook her head. This was no time to question this odd magic. She needed to contain this portal before it got out of control. Just then, a piece of the portal snapped out of the circle before being pulled back in by the rest of the magic. Yep, she needed to create a barrier. Preferably now.

She closed her eyes and began to concentrate. This barrier couldn’t be created by any normal spell. Just like how this spell for the portal wasn’t in the normal latin. Whereas the ritual had to be said in Old English, the barrier could only be created through the mind. 

The Gryffindor began to visualize in her mind a wall forming around the circle. It was large and solid. Concrete blocks materialized out of nothing and creating a large dome around the two of them in her mind. When she she felt a heavy drain on her magic, she knew the barrier had formed but she didn’t dare open her eyes. Lily couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything. She barely even nodded her head to give Dumbledore the signal to continue with the spell, afraid she would lose the visualization.

Dumbledore watched his former student with mild curiosity while she created the barrier. Nothing seemed to happen which made the old headmaster even more curious. Was the barrier invisible or was she simply still creating it? He was slightly disappointed when the woman nodded. He didn’t understand how she was keeping the portal from spilling out from the circle since she hadn’t felt the  _ need  _ to inform him about a part of the ritual he wasn’t conducting and it looked like he wouldn’t understand just by watching.

Disgruntled, he began the next part of the ritual. “Friclan ûs of pro ic hlêg nergend. Cunnon sê fyrndagas hûru r¯ædlic,” Dumbledore couldn’t help but think of himself before he turned his eyes to Lily, “Palendse sâmgung êac unforhtigende.”

The golden cyclone swirled faster and faster, whipping in tight, out of control circles. Slowly, the golden mass seemed to condense right above the rug. The magic snapped, crackled, and seemed to be almost electric even though it should be impossible for magic and electricity to combine in such a way.

The pull on his magic suddenly spiked. The old professor barely kept himself from collapsing. The ritual was draining his magic too much, too fast. Lily had been right. He wasn’t going to be able to complete this ritual with the strength of his own magic. The portal was eating through his magic much faster than he anticipated.

Dumbledore began drawing energy from the surrounding plants. He waited for the strain from sustaining the portal to lessen, but it didn’t. Or, well, it barely did. The plants, the flowers, the grass--they weren’t enough. He wasn’t going to be to pull the person through, much less, survive this ritual if he couldn’t find another source of energy. He needed relief and he needed it  _ now _ . So Dumbledore did the only thing he could think of, he latched onto Lily’s magic.

Lily gasped when the drain on her magic increased suddenly. She scrunched her eyes closed tightly in confusion. She didn’t understand. The barrier wouldn’t drain her like this unless…

“Professor, stop!” She called out while trying to maintain the block between the outside world and the portal. “Professor, stop, please! I can’t sustain us both!”

Dumbledore ignored her and went on to say the last line of the ritual, “Wiðstandan ûs of pro ic weargbr¯æde nergendbeswâpan ûs of pro ic ongêanweard sê blind first.”

The portal surged with a sudden intensity that it almost threw the two off their feet before tightened into a cyclone focused at the very center of the rug. It sparked and howled before slowly dissipating.

Lily collapsed to her knees, dissolving the barrier as she did so. Gasping for breath, she tried to fight through her magical exhaustion. “You bastard,” she panted, “I  _ told  _ you I couldn’t handle using my magic for both the portal and the barrier. I told you. But what do you do? You latch onto my magic like a freaking leech. I’m lucky you didn’t turn me into a squib or kill me.”

Instead of receiving the reply that she had hoped for, Dumbledore remained silent. In fact, the entire yard was silent except for a strange sniffling sound. With a sigh, Lily stumbled to her feet, causing her vision to blur and dots to appear. When her vision returned, she couldn't help but stare at her garden in shock. “Holy shite…..”

The backyard to the little cottage in Godric’s Hollow was utterly decimated. The grass that used to be healthy and green was now brown and dead. All her beautiful flowers were dead as well. Even the large willow tree seemed to be drooping more than usual.

  Lily ran a hand through her hair. “Holy shite. I guess that explains why you had to draw magic from me.” She turned to face Dumbledore only to find him standing in the middle of the rug with his back towards her. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” She called out, “Professor, is something wrong? Did nobody come through?”

“Somebody came through,” the old man said as he turned around.

Lily looked in confusion at the  green and black bundle in Dumbledore’s arms before her eyes widened. She took slow, measured steps forward until she reached her former headmaster. A shaky hand reached up and pulled the blanket away from the small figure. A small, chubby face with tearful green eyes and shock black hair greeted her.

She stumbled back in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” she finally mumbled, “It was supposed to have worked. I did everything right.”

“Maybe,” Dumbledore said as he stared down at the child in his arms, “It did work.”

Lily shook her head. “No. No. That can’t be right.” She stared at at the two of them before sighing and moving forward. “Give him to me. You’re not even holding him right. You’re not supporting his head.”

Dumbledore carefully deposited the baby into her arms. She gently rocked him back and forth trying to get him to stop crying. “You’re all right, honey. You’re all right,” Lily whispered to him before saying to Dumbledore, “He isn’t our saviour, okay? I must have screwed up the runes or the spell or  _ something _ , but this little boy is  _ not our saviour _ !”

“No, my dear, everything was correct. The ritual did exactly what it was supposed to do.”

Lily held the little boy closer to her. “Even if the boy is our saviour, he’s too young!”

Dumbledore motioned to himself. “Give him to me, Lily.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to take him to a safe place. A place where he can live, grow, and train safely.”

Lily’s eyes snapped up. “Train?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, as soon as he’s old enough he shall begin training so he will be prepared for You-Know-Who.”

“What?” Lily said incredulously, “You’ve got to be kidding me. This boy is a child! You can not expect him to fight in a war! You can not expect him to become a soldier! He’s just a boy!”

“And this boy will save all the other children in the wizarding world if he fights in this war,” Dumbledore snapped, “The life of one child is not greater than the lives of the entire Wizarding community. It is for the greater good.”

“The greater good?! No, I refuse to believe that turning this boy into a child soldier is for the greater good! I tried to convince myself that it was okay to summon someone here, that it was okay to  _ kidnap _ someone. I was prepared to face the consequences when a man or woman came through that portal, but I was not expecting a  _ child _ . This just goes to show how wrong this entire thing is! We kidnapped someone! We took him away from his family because it benefited us! We convinced ourselves that this was okay when it was so clearly  _ not _ .”

“This is for the greater good, Lily,” Dumbledore sighed and stepped closer to her, “Give me the child.”

“No,” Lily said as she backed away quickly. 

“No?” the old professor repeated dangerously.

“No, he’s going to stay here with me and James until I can find a way to send him back.”

“Ms Evans, you can’t possibly--” Dumbledore cut himself off with a sigh before a grandfatherly smile appeared on his face, “You’re right. We should send the child back, but until then we need to protect the boy. He won’t be protected here.”

Lily threw her one free hand up in the air. “Then we’ll put a fidelius charm around the house! I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something! But the boy stays with me until I can send him back. It’s my fault he’s here; he’s my responsibility.”

“What are you going to tell James?”

“The truth. For the first time in months I’ll tell James the truth. I know he’ll help me with the baby. Maybe he’ll even forgive me.”

Dumbledore stepped closer to her. “People will question why you suddenly have a baby.”

Lily shrugged. “Maybe I was pregnant.”

“What?” Dumbledore seemed truly confused.

“I’ve been acting strange for months, never leaving my house, constantly snapping at people, always stressed. I could make it seem like I was hiding a pregnancy.” She paused and cocked her head. “Or I can say that the boy is Petunia’s son. I could say that I’m babysitting or something, but...he looks too much like James for that to work.”

“That could,” Dumbledore struggled past the word, “work, but, Lily--”

Lily cut him off as she looked at her watch, “Look my husband is going to be home any minute. I would prefer to explain all of this to him alone. The baby is my responsibility, end of discussion. He’s staying with me and James until I can send him home.”

“Lily, the boy--”

“Professor, please,” Lily said, exhaustion creeping into her voice, “The only reason he’s here is because of me. Let me take responsibility for my actions.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Fine. The boy can stay with you for now, but we shall discuss how we’re going to handle this at a later date. I wish you the best of luck.”

With one last glance at the child in her arms, the headmaster turned on his heels and disappeared with a crack. The tension drained out of Lily when Dumbledore apparated away. She looked at the little boy in her arms. His tearful green eyes stared back up at her.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry I drug you into this. But I promise that I will find a way to send you back home. I promise.”

A sudden slamming sound caused her to jump. She heard the faint call of, “Lily, I’m home!”

She glanced down again at the baby in her arms, her gaze lingering on the crooked black lettering. She sighed and stood up straight, holding her head up high. “Well, it’s time to face the music. Welcome to your new home...Hadrian.”

* * *

Fifteen months later, James and Lily Potter were murdered, and Hadrian Myrddin Le Fay became Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Sorry if it's choppy; I didn't proofread it. I basically just wrote it and posted it. And I know some of you wanted the story to move further along, but I felt like this scene was necessary. I needed to explain how the world came to know Hadrian as Harry. Oh! And the spell was supposedly in Old English. I found a translator thingy, but I'm not sure if it can be trusted. What is was meant to say was "Open a door through space and time. Through times long since past and through moments which have yet to occur. Open a portal between worlds and times. Bring to us a saviour, be he old and wise or young and fearless. Bring us a saviour in these dark times."  
> Anyway, don't be afraid to tell me what you think! Hope you liked it!


	5. Arthur Gives the Best Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins. Without Hadrian. Much to Morgana's grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? I'm actually alive and posting! Hey everyone, I hope you like this next chapter. I'm sorry it's so late but I was in a really bad wreck a bit back and a couldn't use my hands. I know, torture, right?! Anyway it got the creative juices flowing and I was able to crank this out as soon as I could type. Tell me what you think!

Time moved slowly for Morgana Le Fay after the lose of her son. It flowed like molasses. It moved achingly, agonizingly slow, barely moving; one lone drop dangling over a precipice. But no matter how slowly time seemed to be moving, that drop of molasses would soon fall. Something big was coming. Morgana could feel it in her bones.

She moved around the small hovel with measured steps, picking up the few personal items in the hut. She only picked up the things she deemed necessary; she couldn’t afford to be bogged down by anything that wasn’t truly necessary, plus she had a certain… image she needed to maintain. Morgana carefully hid the spellbook Morgause had given her for her birthday at the bottom of her bag and covered it with her few provisions, as well as the few trinkets and baubles her sister had given her over the past few months. Each had some kind of spell or charm on them. A somewhat plain silver ring with a small opal embedded in it had been charmed to make it easier for her to… persuade people to do her bidding. A gold necklace was charmed to protect her from most poisons. A delicate arm cuff was charmed to boost the strength of all of her spells when she was wearing it. 

When Morgana placed the last item into her bag, her hands fluttered to her side, unsure of what to do next. She scanned the room once more, checking to see if she missed anything, before her eyes settled on a small section of the floor. Hesitantly, she knelt down and carefully pried the loose floorboard up. An assortment of  colored yarns and tiny baby clothes were hidden in the hole, a single pair of knitting needles lying on top of them. Reverently, she pulled out the tiny articles of clothing and clutched them to her chest.

After Hadrian had been stolen from her, Morgana had thrown herself into research of any and every kind of summoning spell she could find. Morgause was incredibly knowledgeable in the art of magic and she had a wide variety of spell books; Morgana had mistakenly assumed that she would find a spell to summon her son back to her rather quickly. But as the days went by, she slowly began to despair. No spell seemed to fit her need, or if it did, it wouldn’t work properly when she performed it. It came to the point that whenever she felt especially hopeless that she would knit something for Hadrian. It helped strengthen her faith that her son would return to her once more.

Needless to say, Morgana had knitted  _ many _ clothes in his absence. But now, now, she couldn’t take them with her. It would be too suspicious if someone found them in her belongings. She couldn’t afford that. With shaky hands, she put down the tiny onesie and gathered the small balls of yarn and her knitting needles before placing them in her bag. She had a feeling that she would need the small comfort in the next few months.

Morgana took much longer than strictly necessary packing the items away, but after spending fifteen minutes rearranging everything for the optimal amount of space, she turned back to her small hiding place with a sigh. She knelt for what seemed like hours, willing her hands to place the floorboard back in its original position, but her hands remained resolutely in her lap. She couldn’t bare to lock all of Hadrian’s clothes away forever. It felt too much like a betrayal. Like she was giving up on him.  _ It felt like what Merlin did to me _ , a voice in her head whispered.

Her face hardened. She would not give up on her baby boy. She would find him and bring him back home.  _ She would not betray him _ .

Faster than what seemed possible, one of the Lady’s hands shot out and snatched up a pair of tiny green socks with delicate black trim. Morgana clutched them close to her heart as she replaced the floorboard. Although she could not take all of the clothing without someone becoming suspicious, she doubted that anyone would notice a tiny pair of socks.      

She was walking back to her bag in order to hide her precious cargo when the door creaked open. The sudden noise caused her to jump slightly and whirl around, making sure to hide Hadrian’s green socks behind her back. She let out a breath of relief when she realized it was only Morgause, but kept her hand hidden. 

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon, sister,” Morgana said somewhat breathlessly.

Morgause looked at her strangely. “I’m actually a little later than expected. I told you I’d be back in an hour, remember?”

“Oh…”

Morgause’s expression changed to one of concern. “Are you feeling all right, Morgana? You look rather pale.”

Morgana waved her left hand dismissively, clutching the socks in her right hand behind her back. “It’s nothing. I’m just nervous is all.”

She quickly turned away from her sister and scurried back to her bag. Trying to make it seem like she was just fiddling with the contents of her bag, Morgana carefully slipped the pair of socks into the bottom of her bag.

Morgause sighed before forcing the younger to turn around in order to face her. “You have  _ nothing _ to worry about, Morgana. You’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“I still feel like we’re rushing this, sister,” Morgana claimed, “I feel like I just got you; I don’t want to lose you this soon.”  

In actuality, it wasn’t just losing her sister that had Morgana worried; it was the fact that she would lose her sister’s resources. Morgause was incredibly knowledgeable when it came to magic and was always willing to lend her a book on magic when she asked. Morgana may or may not have slightly _ exploited _ her willingness in order to research ways to find Hadrian. If she left she wouldn’t have access to the books she needed.

“We all have to make sacrifices in order to usurp Uther,” Morgause paused, eyeing the younger witch carefully, “Don’t you  _ want  _ to take the throne and restore magic to Camelot?”

“Of course, I want to return magic to the kingdom! How could you think that I don’t?!”

“Then why are you hesitating about leaving? This is what we’ve been preparing for these last few months!”

Morgana glanced down and fiddled with her hands nervously. “I’m just worried is all. There’s so many variables I’m not prepared for. Will I be able to handle Uther? Arthur? Will they  _ believe  _ me? Not to mention Mer-- _ him _ . He  _ poisoned  _ me, Morgause. What’s to say he won’t do it again?”

 Morgause cupped her sister’s face gently. “You've grown so much over this past year, Morgana. You went from a girl scared of her own magic to a powerful sorceress who is beyond skilled. I was worried in the beginning, but you’ve become extremely skilled in both offensive and defensive spells. Even if I'm not there to protect you, you can protect yourself. I have faith in you.”

“What if your faith is misplaced?” Morgana whispered quietly.

“How could it when it’s placed in my courageous and powerful, little sister?” Morgause said with a small smile before becoming serious again. “And we can easily take care of that meddling manservant if he’s the one you’re worried about. Nobody will question it if he disappears after a night at the tavern.”

Morgana shook her head, ignoring the twang in her heart. “I’m not so sure that would work. For some reason, many people in Camelot seem worry about the boy. If he disappears, people will go looking for him. Including my brother even though he denies that he truly cares about the manservant.”

Morgause shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. “Then there’s a death in the boy’s family, and he has to return to his village. This can be easily fixed. You have nothing to worry about, dear.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Morgana replied with a shaky smile.

“Just stick to the plan and everything will turn out perfectly,” Morgause said as she rubbed her sister’s arms comfortingly, “Uther will lose his throne. Magic will return to the kingdom. And  _ you _ , my dear Morgana,  _ you  _ shall be  _ Queen of Camelot _ .” 

Morgana stood taller with her shoulders thrown back and face lifted regally. Morgause smiled proudly and the younger witch couldn’t help but smile back at her happily. “You are destined for greatness, sister.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Morgause spun around and went back to business. “I had some of my men kill one of Camelot’s patrols. Are you ready? We must act soon either way. Uther will have his knights out investigating what happened.”

Startled by the sudden change in tone and subject matter, Morgana merely nodded. The high priestess exhaled sharply through her nose and her lips pinched together. “ _ Answer me _ when I ask you a question, Morgana. It will not do for the future queen of camelot does not use her words, but instead uses hand signals and expressions like a barbarian.”

“Right, of course,” Morgana said distractedly while desperately trying to keep from shaking her head. She should have  _ known _ not to merely shake her head. It was one of Morgause’s biggest pet peeves. She took a deep breath before replying in a hopefully stronger tone, “Yes, sister, I’m ready.”

Morgause nodded sharply and began to pace. “Good. That’s good. We will move immediately then.”

She turned to speak to her sister but paused. Some of Morgana’s nervousness must have shown through her carefully placed mask of confidence because Morgause opened her arms wide and beckoned to her younger sister. Morgana tried not to rush to the embrace, but her semblance of composure disappeared when she practically melted into the comfort of her sister.

“You have nothing to worry about, Morgana. Everything will turn out perfect in the end; you’ll see. I’ve planned out everything, seen every possible outcome, and it all ends in our favor. I’ve made sure of it.” Morgause gently rubbed her little sister’s back. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’ve been more stressed than usual. Uther is killing more and more magic user with every passing day. And…to be honest, I’m going to miss you.”

Morgana’s hold on her sister tightened.

The two simply basked in the shared comfort before Morgause sighed and stepped back slightly, forcing the end to the hug. “You’re sure you’re ready to leave? Did you pack everything?”

Morgana nodded and replied, “Yes. I have everything I need.”

Morgause nodded sharply and her face hardened. “Then there’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” the younger witch asked in confusion.

“This,” Morgause said as she stepped forward and ripped the sleeve from her sister’s dress, leaving it to hang by a few threads. Morgana gasped and stepped back, but the High Priestess simply followed her. With precise, vicious force the women ripped and tore Morgana’s dress until she looked as if wearing rags.

“Morgause,  _ what are you doing?! _ ”

The sorcerous twirled behind Morgana before she could stop the other woman and ripped Morgana’s hair out of it’s pristine updo. As she alternatively scrunched the younger witch’s hair and ran her fingers through it, she replied, “You can’t look like you’ve been living in the lap of luxury, Morgana. You need to look as if you’ve been living in a dungeon for the past year. We can’t afford for anyone to get suspicious.”

 “You think  _ this  _ is living in the lap of luxury?” Morgana snapped as she gestured wildly at the dirty hovel they had been staying at for the past few weeks.

The High Priestess stilled behind her. “Need I remind you that it could have been  _ much _ worse. Uther has knights out searching the entire kingdom for you. This is the best I could do considering the circumstances.”

Immediately, Morgana felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I was just shocked and took it out on you. I didn’t mean it.”

Instead of replying, Morgause merely hummed quietly as she continued to tear at her sister’s dress and mess up her hair. The minutes ticked by slowly until Morgause finally stepped back and nodded at her handiwork. “I think you’re ready, dear.”

Morgana’s nerves came back with a vengeance as soon as the words left her sister’s mouth, but she didn’t allow the slight fear to appear on her face. Instead, she held her head up high and gave her sister a slight smirk. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Morgause nodded and stepped towards the younger witch’s bag, one hand outstretched for it.

“No, don’t touch that!” Morgana yelped. Faster than she thought possible, Morgana bolted across the room and snatched the bag to her chest. Her sister stared at her in confusion. “I was just going to hand it to you.”

Morgana’s mind whirled trying to think of a response. “It--it has some breakable things in it and I was afraid you would accidentally break them.”

Suspicion flickered in the High Priestess eyes. “Really? How have you been able to keep them from breaking whenever we travel?”

Morgana stared at the other woman with wide eyes before she lowered them to the floor. “Well, to be honest, sister, I don’t have anything really breakable in my bag.”

“Oh?” Morgause said stepping closer, “Then why did you lie to me?”

“I’ve been making you a birthday present,” Morgana whispered, making sure to keep her head dipped slightly so her sister wouldn’t be able to see the smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “I was afraid you would see it is you grabbed the bag.”

Morgause visibly relaxed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. You’re my sister, and you’ve done so much for me over this past year.”

Morgause smiled before motioning to the bag. “Are you going to show me what you made? Or are you going to let the suspense torture me?”

Morgana’s grip on her bag tightened. “It’s not your birthday yet.”

Morgause laughed lightly and waved her hand dismissively. “Surely that doesn’t matter! You’ll be leaving soon. I think we both need a little happiness right now.”

“It’s-it’s,” Morgana stuttered slightly, “It’s not finished yet!”

Morgause pouted playfully before smiling. “I guess I’ll just have to wait then.”

Morgana smiled, trying to hide her inner relief. She mentally made a note to get her sister a birthday gift soon.

A knock on the door startled the two sisters. A large, burly man poked his head in. The hesitant, almost fearful, look on his face was comical since the man looked as if he made his living as a mercenary. Which probably wasn’t too far off considering the men her sister always seemed to be hiring.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Morgause cut him off with a shriek. “What are you doing in here?! I ordered you and your men to leave ages ago! Why haven’t you left yet!?”

“I-I’m sorry, milady,” the man stuttered, “But you didn’t tell us where exactly we were supposed to be going. I’ve sent my men ahead since I have a general idea, but I need to know exactly where the knights are going to be so we can get the jump on them.”

“The clearing about seven miles northeast of here,” Morgause snarled, “Now,  _ leave _ ! Or you will never make it to the ambush.”

The man hurriedly nodded and closed the door fast enough that his hand almost got caught in it. A few minutes later, the sisters could hear the loud hoofbeats of a horse running before the sound slowly faded away.

Morgause turned back to her sister. “Now, you truly must go.” She said as she ushered the younger witch out the door. “Those bandits will not stand a chance against Camelot’s knights and you need to be at least close to the clearing at the end of the battle so the knights can find you. You must hurry.”

“I? Aren’t you coming with me?” Morgana asked when her sister managed to push her out the door.

Morgause shook her head. “No, I’m going to get as far away from the knights as possible. We can’t afford for them to find me. I’m going to go south and try to make a deal with one of Uther’s enemies. You will be fine on your own. The knights wouldn’t dare harm you.”

“But sister-”

“This is not up for discussion, Morgana,” The high priestess snapped, “You will go and you will go  _ alone _ .”

Morgana’s face hardened and she nodded. “Right. Of course. I will see you in a few weeks. Be careful, Morgause.”

Morgana turned sharply on her heels and began to walk in the direction of the clearing. Morgause didn’t call out to her or stop her. Morgana tried not to feel hurt. Suddenly, she heard a horse neigh and a smile stole across her face. So, Morgause was coming with her after all. Morgana turned around sharply, a witty comment on the tip of her tongue, only to see her sister riding off in the opposite direction like she promised. A flash of pain went through her hurt, but Morgana ignored it. She was stronger than that. Instead, she turned around and started walking again.

The walk to the clearing seemed to take forever. The air was heavy and thick with fog. The trees were packed tightly together. And the ground was incredibly soft. More than once she fell or tripped over a tree root into the mud because she couldn’t really see where she was going. Dirt covered her hands and dress she couldn’t help but think Morgause should have just let her walk into the forest without ripping her dress. The forest was doing more damage to it than her sister ever could.

A faint sound filtered through the trees ahead of her which caused her to pause. She listened carefully before registering that the sounds where the faint clanking of swords clashing together. A small smile flickered across her face and she started walking faster than before towards the sound. Her steps got faster and faster until she was running towards the noise, towards the battle. She could hear the clashing of metal, the cries of the injured, and what faintly sounded like orders being yelled, but it only made her run faster. She needed to see them. She needed to see the knights. She needed to see Arthur, her brother. She needed to see Mer--

Morgana skidded to a halt, eyes widening in realization. Rage flickered across her face. She did  _ not  _ want to see the bastard who  _ poisoned her _ . Her eyes hardened, and she started walking at a slower pace, forcing her mind to focus on anything other than  _ him _ . 

The forest became quiet once more, signalling the end of the fight, but she could still hear the faint sounds of talking ahead which meant she was still going in the right direction. The fog seemed to become thicker, blocking most of her view as to what, or rather  _ who _ , was ahead. The talking got louder for a moment before it completely stopped. Morgana continued on anyway. Suddenly her foot caught on a tree root and caused her to stumble forward. Morgana clenched her eyes closed preparing for the inevitable pain of crashing to the ground for what seemed like the millionth time that day, but two arms encircled her and steadied her. Morgana opened her eyes and stared at the ground in confusion before looking up. The sun finally came out from behind the clouds it had been hiding behind all day and momentarily blinded her. After blinking the dots from her eyes, she realized she was staring directly into a pair of bright blue eyes.

“ _ Morgana? _ ” The man seemed to breath out.

She smiled in a mixture of relief and happiness and she breathed out, “ _ Arthur. _ ”

The prince stared at her in shock before clutching her close in a tight hug. She burrowed into it, relishing the comfort of it. Arthur rarely gave hugs. If he did, they were usually only for a few seconds or they were a one armed hug. Sometimes, though, Arthur would give special hugs. They were long and fierce as if he was trying to force the comfort and love he was feeling into the other person. She had only received this type of hug three other times in her life. The first time was right after Gorlois died. Arthur had been slightly cruel to her when she first moved to Camelot, but that changed when he found her hiding in her closet, clutching her father’s cloak and sobbing. That was the first time she received one of these hugs. 

Morgana was ten the next time she received one of Arthur’s special hugs. Some bandits had kidnapped her in hopes they would get a ransom for her. The knights didn’t find her until two weeks later. By then she had taken quite a beating. A split lip, black eyes, and broken bones were what greeted Arthur when she returned to Camelot. He had hugged her gently then, afraid he would cause more damage. He stayed by her side for weeks, making her better by joking with her and promising to teach her how to fight when she was all healed.

The last time Morgana received this kind of hug had been more...traumatic for all parties involved. She had been sixteen at the time. Uther was having a feast for some reason or the other, but halfway through the celebrations a man burst through the doors of the Grand Hall. Before any of the guards could stop him, he pulled out a deadly looking dagger and threw it at the Prince. Time seemed to slow down as the dagger flipped blade over handle. Morgana watched as Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise and fear before simply… stepping in front of him. Her eyes locked with his and the fear in his eyes grew but before he could do anything, the knife slipped into her back. Morgana had gasped in pain and fell into his waiting arms. She couldn’t remember a time when she had seen so much fear and pain in his face. He clutched her to himself tightly, trying to keep pressure on the wound, but the act turned into one of his hugs rather than a medical necessity. The last thing Morgana could remember before blacking out from the pain was Arthur whispering to her his cracking with guilt and fear, “Why’d you do that, Gana? Why’d you have to play hero? I would have been fine.”

That had been the last time Morgana had received one of Arthur’s true hugs. Everything after then had become so hectic and confusing and  _ secretive _ . She was beginning to think she would never get one of these again.

Arthur buried his face into neck and held her tightly. “You’re here,” Morgana heard him whisper. It sounded like he was reassuring himself. “We found you. You’re ok. You’re alive.”

Eventually he stepped back, a worried look flashing across his face. “Are you all right? Are you injured?” Something like horror flashed across his face. “Oh god, did I hurt you more when I hugged you?!”

Morgana smiled a small smile. “I’m fine, Arthur. I’ll be fine.”

Arthur shook his head. “We need to get you to Camelot and have Gaius check you out. Merlin!” He called over his shoulder, “Get the horses!”

Morgana froze. She didn’t think he would be here, but she should have known. He always followed Arthur around,  _ always _ . Her breathing began to pick up, and the blood drained from her face.  _ He  _ was here. The man she trusted. The man who tried to  _ kill her. Merlin was-- _

“Morgana! Morgana!” Arthur called, his voice tinged with panic, “Morgana calm down! You’re safe! I’m here; I’ll protect you.  _ You’re safe! _ ”

Wide greens eyes filled with panic and fear met his. Morgana clutched at his arms and whispered, “ _ Stay with me. _ ”

Arthur watched her worriedly. He had never seen Morgana act like this. “Or course, Gana. Of course.”

Merlin stepped forward with Arthur’s horse in tow, but froze when the Prince signaled for him to stop when Morgana whimpered quietly and curled into him. “It’s okay, Gana. It’s okay,” Arthur whispered quietly as he leaned back to snag the horse’s reins and pull it closer to them. “I’ve got you now. I’ll protect you. No one else has to come near you if you don’t want them to.”

Carefully Arthur helped his sister up onto the horse before sitting behind her. His arms circled her tightly as he held onto the reins. Arthur barely paused to give the order to his men to meet them in Camelot before giving a sharp kick to his horse to gallop towards the city. He whispered quiet reassurances to her as they rode away. Neither one of them looked back to see the pure look of guilt, pain, and hope on Merlin’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What'd you think?! Tell me down below! I bet I had some of you fooled when Morgana fell. I bet you thought it was Merlin, didn't you? Well you have to wait a bit for anything like that to happen. But it will happen! Promise!  
> I know a lot of you will be confused about Morgana's attitude. i know she's not her strong, confident, kick-ass self, but you have to understand a lot of shit has happened to her. She lost Hadrian and can't find a way to get him back. She's leaving her sister and returning to Camelot--The place where Merlin's at. The person she thinks wants to kill her. So, can you blame her for wanting comfort?  
> Anyway, I've figured out how I' going to write this and I thought I should tell you guys. It's going to switch between Hadrian and Morgana every other chapter (so the next chapter will be with Hadrian/Harry). The chapters with Harry will tell bits of his life but NOT ALL. That would be incredibly long and isn't the main point of the story. There will be some canon divergence as well. I haven't figured out how much, but I know I want my Harry to be darker, more war-torn. I'm up for suggestions. Tell me what you think Harry should go through. I'll tell you if I'll use it or not. Oh! And I NEED AN OPINION. Should Harry be in Slytherin or Gryffindor? Both his parents are definitely Slytherins, but Harry being a Gryffindor was such a big part of canon. Please tell me what you think.


	6. Macha? What the Hell is Macha?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares or Reality? Does it even matter? Life sucks anyway so it might as well be a nightmare. Or maybe not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this?! An update?! *Gasp!* Hey, guys! What's up? Hope you guys like this next chapter. Not a lot of action but I think it's pretty good. Tell me what you think at the end of the chapter! Thanks for reading!

_ All he could see was green. He was surrounded by trees. Nothing like what grew in Surrey. Oh, no. Those trees were spindly, little things that barely had enough energy to prolong their short, miserable lives of being trimmed into submission. No, these trees were huge and towered over his head. The large branches completely blocked out the sun overhead and left the ground a barren brown. _

_ Shouts suddenly came to life somewhere to his right. Loud screams and crashes echoed through the air. Harry gasped and took a step back. His eyes darted around the forest looking for someone, anyone that might attack him. Slowly the shouts began to lessen until the woods were quiet again. Almost. If Harry listened closely he could hear the faint murmur of voices. _

_ He slowly began to relax again. Everything was fine. Just as he fully relaxed, a woman stumbled into the clearing. A startled shriek left his lips, and he stepped back, but his foot caught on a root. Suddenly, he was falling, falling, falling, the world spinning around him. _

_ When he opened his eyes again, the scene had changed. Instead of being in a tremendous forest, Harry was in a strange looking town. The buildings looked strange, though. Instead of precise bricks or cuts of wood, the buildings seemed to be made out of an odd clay, and instead of neat black shingles, the roofs were covered with straw. _

_ Harry scrambled up when a boy around his age exited one of the houses. He tensed his muscles, although he didn’t know if he was getting ready to fight or run away from the boy. He blinked in shock when the other boy walked past him without even looking at him. Instead, the boy ran out into the woods on the edge of the village. Harry stared after him, a pensive look on his face. After a moment, he took off after the boy shouting, “Hey, wait up!” _

_ The other boy didn’t seem to hear him and continued to run deep into the woods, but Harry followed him persistently. Eventually, the other boy slowed to a halt. Harry was gasping by the time he reached him. “I thought I told you to wait?” _

_ Harry huffed when the other boy refused to answer him. Maybe it was a mistake following him. He paused when he noticed the boy glanced around the woods with wary blue eyes. Harry tilted his head. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. _

_ Harry waited patiently as the other boy continued to look around the woods for something. A large grin stole across his face when he did not find whatever he was looking for. Harry couldn’t help but step closer when he saw the boy scrunch his eyes tightly closed, the smile still on his lips. “What are you doing?” Harry whispered curiously. _

_ The boy cupped his hands together instead of answering. Harry was too curious to huff this time. Suddenly the boy’s eyes flew open to reveal a startling gold color, and he opened his hands. A bright blue butterfly fluttered out of his hands. _

_ Harry gasped. “You can do it too!” _

_ He took a step forward and reached out for the boy, but his eyes widened when his foot didn’t meet the ground like he expected. Instead, he was falling, falling, falling, the world spinning around him again. _

_ This time when he opened his eyes, he was in a large stone corridor. Harry stood up carefully, looking around the empty hall warily. Something was happening. Something bad. He could feel it in the air; it was stifling and heavy and… and  _ wrong. _ Something bad was happening. _

_ Shouts and screams began to echo through the halls, causing Harry to tense. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get away from the screams  He needed to hide. Harry quickly scurried down the hallways, making sure to peek around every corner before continuing on his journey.  Unfortunately, the screams only got louder with every turn he made until eventually, he stumbled out into the courtyard of the large castle he had been wandering through.  _

_ Harry could only stand frozen in horror as he tried to register what he was seeing. Men in shining armor, streaked with a red color Harry knew all too well were putting up a valiant fight against men in strange black clothing. They even seemed to be winning even though they were so outnumbered. Harry stepped deep in the shadow, trying to hide from the men with pointy swords. _

_ Suddenly, something flickered in the corner of his eyes. He stared in horror as a skeleton walked towards the men in red, a sword clutched in its hand.  _

_ More and more skeletons began to appear and the men in red tried to fight them, but there was no way to kill what was already dead. A quiet whimper left Harry’s lips as a skeleton walked particularly close to his hiding spot. The skeleton froze before turning his head until it was facing backward to stare at the young boy. Harry stared up at the skeleton in horror before doing the only thing he could do. He screamed. _

_ The world tilted around him again, going faster and faster. All Harry could see where disorienting glimpses of different people, locations.  _

_ A small black haired boy, the words “I’ll never forget this.” echoing through Harry’s mind. _

_ A woman in lavender kneeling on a cushion as a crown was placed on her head. _

_ “How could you betray me like this?!” _

_ A stone arch in the middle of an empty room, the curtain attached to it fluttering to a nonexistent wind.  _

_ “I trusted you!” _

_ A majestic sword being lifted out of a lake by a dainty looking hand. _

_ “Sleep and remember, my last lullaby, so I’ll be with you in your dreams…” _

_ Body’s scattered like broken dolls across a battlefield. _

_ “You’ve raised him like a pig for the slaughter.” _

_ Fire and screams and the smell of burnt flesh as something gave an ear shattering roar. _

_ “YOU MUST KILL THE WITCH!” _

_ A flash of crackling green light. _

_ “Magic is a crime punishable by death!” _

_ A woman in green gasping for breath as she looked up at him with pleading eyes as if begging him to help her. _

“ _ Mummy! _ ” Harry wailed as he shot up from his cot.

He gasped for breath and looked around his cupboard wildly. He curled up into a tight ball as he tried to calm his breathing and keep silent. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, and he scrubbed them away harshly. It did not help to cry. It never did.

Harry sniffed loudly. Weren’t dreams supposed to be good? Weren’t they supposed to be happy? Other kids in his class always talked about the amazing dreams they’d had the night before, and  _ none  _ of them were bad. Even the dreams they claimed were bad truly weren’t bad. They were just silly dreams about being grounded or dropping their ice cream. Harry’s, on the other hand, seemed to always be horrible nightmares. His dreams were always filled with screams and pain and  _ death _ . He tried not to dwell on them, but how could he not when he dreaded closing his eyes each night?

A creak echoed through the house causing Harry to freeze before paling drastically. He dearly hoped his shout and sniffling hadn’t awoken the Dursleys. He shuddered at the thought of what they might do to him if he woke them up for the third time this month with unearthly screams.

His eyes flickered to the cupboard door. It was surely locked, but…what if he… Harry raised a shaking hand to the door, closed his eyes, and  _ willed _ it to open. The resounding snap off the deadbolt had his eyes snapping open. He did it! Quickly and silently, he scrambled out of his cell and out the back door to his few hours of freedom. 

Harry Potter’s life was not a happy one. Nor had it ever been to his knowledge. Life was hard. Time was slow. But most of all, people were cruel. That was the most important thing he learned in his six years of living with the Dursleys.

The Dursley’s...didn’t like him. In fact, he was inclined to say they hated them. The only reason he didn’t say that was because his teachers would get this weird concerned look on their face whenever he did and that  _ always _ spelled out trouble for Harry. So, instead, Harry learned to lie. He had gotten very good at it over the past few years. He had figured out that in some instances it was best to lie with a soft smile on his face. In others, it was best to lie with a wavering voice and wide, tearful eyes. In a few occasions, it was best to just spin the truth so that it sounded like a lie. Harry couldn’t figure out if it was a good trait to have or a bad one, though. After all, adults always said that lying was bad, but how could it be bad when it protected him?

Harry wandered through the streets of Surrey with no destination in mind. The sun was just barely peeking above the horizon which meant that no one would be up and about this early. The children in the neighborhood were too lazy to get up anytime before ten, and the adults always took advantage of that fact. He had the entire neighborhood to himself.

“Macha! Get back down here!”

…Evidently not.

Harry curiously turned the corner to the park and saw a small girl staring up at the one decent tree in Surrey. He immediately deduced that she was not from around Surrey. She was small, probably a couple years younger than he was, with flowing golden hair down to her waist. But what stood out about her was the way she was dressed. Instead of the well put together outfits Harry was so used to seeing in this neighborhood, the girl was dressed in an odd, flowy dress that went down to just below her knees. Aunt Petunia would have wrinkled her nose and scoffed at how the bottom of the dress was cut to be ragged instead of it ending in a neat line or pleats. Placed daintily on her head was a flower crown. Harry squinted before blinking in surprise. The carefully crafted crown was made from real dandelions and violets.

“Come on, Macha! Pleeeeaasssseeeee, come down?” The girl called up the tree, “If you come down, I promise I’ll let you go hunting!”

Hunting? In Surrey? What on Earth was this girl talking about? Harry edged closer to the girl before his curiosity got the best of him. “Who are you talking to?”

The girl whirled around, a startled look on her face before it was replaced with a sunny smile. “Oh, hello! I didn’t realize anyone was up this early! What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he mumbled in partial shock, unused to people asking for his name, especially people as… _ lively  _ as her.  She seemed to almost radiate life and energy. Her smile was huge and her hazel eyes were kind in a way Harry had not seen in a long time.

She skipped over to him until she stood directly in front of him. She stared deep into his eyes as if searching for something before smiling again and hugging him tightly. Harry tried to keep from wincing since her arms were directly on some of his fading bruises before he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug. 

“I think we’re going to be great friends.” The girl said as she looked up at him, ignoring how she had her face smashed against his chest, “My name’s Brigid!”

The girl pulled away to glare at the tree, her hands on her hips. “I was trying to convince my pesky little cat, Macha, to come down from that tree!”

Harry glanced up the tree and saw a calico cat sitting regally on a branch. Both, its black ear and orange ear, were laid flat on its head in annoyance.

If he hadn’t been sure the girl wasn’t from Surrey, he was now. “Macha?” Harry asked incredulously, “How did you come up with the name Macha?”

Brigid blinked up at him. “That’s always been her name. It’s who she is.”

“Okay….” Harry said when it became obvious that she wouldn’t elaborate. He glanced up at the cat before glancing down at the girl. There was no possible way for her to get… Macha. She was too tiny. She wouldn’t be able to reach the first tree branch much less her cat. Taking a deep breath, he decided. “Do you want me to help get your cat down?”

Brigid’s eyes brightened and she bounced slightly on her toes. “You would do that for me?!” She caught him in another tight huge. “Thank you! Thank you!  _ Thank you! _ ”

She stepped back. “Be careful, though. She can be very,  _ very  _ stubborn. Look out for her claws.” 

She curled her fingers and made a swiping motion at Harry while hissing. 

Harry nodded hesitantly as he looked up at the cat. Did he really want to do this? Brigid had practically said the cat was violent. What if this turned into another Ripper situation?

Harry glanced at Brigid before sighing in defeat. He should help her. She was the first person to actually be  _ nice _ to him in this horrible place. She even hugged him! He had to help her.

Harry grabbed onto the lowest branch and hoisted himself up into the tree. Carefully, he climbed through the tree branches until he was sitting on the same branch as the cat.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Harry said ignoring how his voice wavered slightly as he held out his hand to the cat, “Please be nice, and let me pick you up.”  

Macha simply tilted her head at him and meowed, not moving any closer to him.

Harry huffed before scouting out further on the branch until he was just in reach of her. “Nice kitty,” He whispered quietly before gently scooping her into his arms. “Good Macha. Good girl.”

Brigid squealed and clapped her hands excitedly when Harry finally dropped to the ground. “Oh, thank you so much! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here to help.” She paused when she noticed how tense Harry was holding her cat in his arms. 

“Here, let me take her,” She said as she held her arms out. Harry eagerly held the cat out to her, but Macha made a noise somewhere between a meow and a hiss as she dug her claws into the sleeves of Harry’s shirt.  

“I am so sorry! I don’t know what’s come over her! Here, let me help you,” She said as she began untangling Macha’s claw from Harry’s sleeves.

“No, no, it’s fine! I can do it!”

“No, I can help! I know Macha--”

“--please, just let me do it!”

“I can help--”

“I got it--”

They both froze when Brigid accidently pushed Harry’s sleeve up when she finally peeled Macha away from him. A fading yellow bruise in the definite shape of a hand print encircled his wrist.

“Harry,” she whispered gently with a maturity that shouldn’t have been possible for a girl her age, “Who did that to you?”

Harry wrenched his hand back and quickly yanked his sleeve back down. It was time for him to use his talent once again. “It’s nothing,” Harry said making sure to keep his voice light and not defensive, “Me and my cousin were playing this new form of tag and things got pretty intense. I won the game, though, even if I did get a bruise.”

Brigid nodded slowly before her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Harry,” he waited for her to reply but when she didn’t he continued, “Harry James Potter.”

“Harry James Potter…” The girl drawled out as if she was testing out the name. “Harry… Oh!” She blinked in shock before glanced back up at Harry, her eyes searching for something in his. Harry wanted to take a step back, but he was frozen in place. “…Hadrian…”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked in confusion.

She shook her head and waved the hand that wasn’t clutching Macha to her chest dismissively. “ It’s nothing. I’ve just finally placed you is all.” Her eyes became gentle but Harry could see a granite-like strength and determination in them. “You will eventually be happy, you know.”

Harry started to protest but she cut him off with a glare. “You  _ will _ . It will be difficult at times and it will take work, but  _ you will be happy _ .”

Harry snorted. “I thought that was the thing with being happy?” He said sharply, “ _ It’s easy. _ ”

Brigid shook her head sadly. “No, happiness never comes easy no matter what the fairytales tell you. You have to work for it. You have to actively  _ try _ to be happy. Sometimes that means making friends you know you can trust.” She paused. “Or…by creating a family you know you can love.”

“Like I could ever love  _ them _ ,” Harry spat, giving up any attempts of lying.

“I don’t blame you for not loving the people who abuse you,” she said gently, “but that doesn’t mean they’re your only family. You might have other blood. And besides, family isn’t just who you’re related to. Family doesn’t end with blood. Your family can be your closest friends. As long as you trust and love them, they are your family.”

“I don’t even  _ have  _ friends.”

“I don’t think you’ve been in a situation where you could even try to be happy, Hadrian. But give it time. Sometimes the wait makes things sweeter.”

Harry nodded slowly, kicking his foot slightly as he tried to absorb everything she just said. It was strange that a girl younger than him could be this insightful. But something about her mini speech that bothered him. “Why did you call me Hadrian?”

Brigid blinked. “That’s your name.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Harry.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s Hadrian. Just like how Macha’s name is Macha. It’s who you are.”

He just watched her in confusion as she started to cheerfully hum. She glanced up at the sky before back at Harry. “I think it’s time for me to go now.”

Harry blinked. “What? Why?”

She smiled. “It just is.”

“O-okay then. Will I see you again?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?”

Brigid stepped forward and wrapped him in a gentle hug. “Don’t worry. It’ll get better. Life goes on. You just need to be strong. Don’t let people control you.”

She stepped back, pushing a golden strand out of her face. “I wish you the best of luck, Hadrian. I hope that I’ll see you again someday.”

Brigid smiled a gentle smile at Harry once more before turning on her heels and walking away. She didn’t look back. Brigid was gone as fast as she had appeared.

Harry smiled before heading back to the Dursley’s. Maybe people weren’t so bad after all.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think? Don't be afraid to tell me! I know not a lot happened in this chapter, but it was a necessary evil. I wanted a chapter before Hogwarts and this just sorted happened...  
> Anway, next chapter is with Morgana so yay? I don't know I was looking forward more to that chapter than this one. Oh, and if you haven't already figured it out Brigid is important. So is Macha. I love Macha. You shall be seeing more of them later on.  
> OPINIONS WANTED: Ok, everyone. You have one more chapter to comment what house you think Harry should be in and why! Tell me which house you think he should be in and it just might happen. (But please don't be angry if the house I end up choosing isn't the house you wanted. I can't make everyone happy, and in the end I'm going to pick the house I think will best fit the Harry I want him to be.)


	7. Actions and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family dinner leads to a lovers' spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY FREAKING FINISHED IT! GOD, THIS TOOK FOREVER! Man, I struggled with this one. I'm not even sure I'm entirely happy with it, but I know I'll just edit and edit some more if I don't post it now. I hope you guys like it anyway.

Morgana sat stiffly in her large suite, unsure of what to do with herself. Although it was the same room she had grown up in for most of her childhood, it didn’t seem like hers anymore. It felt foreign, like a stiff guest bedroom that was never meant to be used, only appreciated from afar. Her bed was frilly and too soft, small, impersonal welcome home gifts were scattered throughout the room, and the scent of flowers was so heavy in the room that it felt like she was suffocating.

This wasn’t her anymore. This hadn’t been her for over a year, yet they expected her to go back to living like a porcelain doll as if nothing happened? How could they expect this from her? Didn’t they think she had been living this past year in a cave, being tortured and abused by barbarians? How could they expect her to act as if nothing had happened? After moving from one hovel to another for over a year, after pushing herself to the breaking point and then  _ past  _ it again and again, after being betrayed by the man she loved, after  _ losing Hadrian-- _ -

“Milady, would you like me to help dress you for your dinner with the King?”

Morgana blinked.

“Lady Morgana?”

Morgana blinked again, this time completely rousing herself from her thoughts. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Gwen? I was distracted.”

“Would you like me to help you dress for dinner with the King?” Gwen repeated in a more subdued tone.

Morgana immediately shook her head and stood. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Well, would you like me to stay and fix your hair? Maybe some lovely up-do?”

Morgana glanced suspiciously at her handmaid. “What’s going on, Gwen? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

Gwen slumped. “It’s just that…I’ve missed you.”

Morgana’s stance softened. “Is that why you haven’t left my side since I escaped Gaius’ care?”

Gwen quickly busied herself by smoothing out the bedsheets. “You’ve been missing for over a year, milady. I thought I might never see you again.”

“Oh Gwen,” Morgana sighed before hugging her gently, “I’m sorry for worrying you so much.”

“I’m supposed to be comforting  _ you _ , Morgana!” Gwen said, pulling back from the embrace, wiping at her eyes. “After everything you’ve been through--”

Gwen froze, her eyes widening as she watched her friend carefully.

“I am perfectly fine, Guinevere! You heard Gaius! The only physical thing wrong with me are a few bumps and bruises. I’m  _ fine _ .”

“If you say so…”

Morgana smiled. “Now, come on. You can help me fix my hair while you tell me all the court drama I’ve missed over the past year.”

A small grin appeared on Gwen’s face as Morgana led her over to the vanity. “So, tell me everything,” Morgana said as she pulled the hairpin out of her hair and let it cascade down her back.

Gwen picked up the hairbrush and started to gently draw it through her hair. A faint, content smile settled on Morgana’s face as she listened to her friend speak. It had been so long she had felt this kind of companionship. Even before she had left with her sister things had been tense between her and Gwen, but now things seemed almost…normal. Well, close to normal. Gwen was far more hesitant than usual, but that was to be expected since she thought Morgana had gone through some terrible travesty.

Morgana hummed to herself as Gwen twisted half her hair into an elaborate, curling bun. Yes, when she ruled Camelot, she would have to keep Gwen close. Gwen was one of the few people in this castle whom she could trust, and she was always  _ so _ level-headed. She always kept Morgana from making hasty decisions when she was angry. Yes, Gwen would have to remain close when she became Queen. Maybe Morgana could appoint her as a royal advisor since she seemed to connect so well with the people. Or maybe she could make Gwen one of her Ladies. Morgana glanced at her friend appraisingly. She might think the life of court a little constraining at first, but Gwen would soon get used to that and her way of thinking would be beneficial for everyone in court. The only problem would be Arthur… 

“All done, milady,” Gwen said, pulling Morgana from her thoughts.

Morgana blinked before smiling as she took in her hair. Soft curls fell down around her shoulders while the rest of her hair was secured with delicate sapphire hairpins that matched her dress. Much different than the mass of snarled curls that a brush couldn’t get through. “Wonderful, as always, Gwen. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Gwen smiled. “Come now, it’s time for you to go to your dinner. I’m sure you and Arthur will have much to catch up on.”

Morgana smirked. “Arthur? When did he become  _ Arthur _ ?”

Gwen flushed and stammered, “I--um--he--we--”

Morgana waved her hand dismissively, “Don’t worry, you can tell me all the juicy details later.”

Morgana’s sharp eyes caught how her friend relaxed slightly. Yes, Arthur would be a problem if she wanted to keep Gwen at her side.

A harsh rap on the door startled the two women. The servant and the Lady exchanged confused glances before Morgana hesitantly called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Sir Leon. I’m here to escort you to the Grand Hall when you are ready.”

A dangerous glint flashed through Morgana’s eyes before she stormed over to the door and flung it open. “ _ Escort _ ? Since when do I need an  _ escort _ ?”

Leon’s eyes widened.  “I’m just doing what the King order, Lady Morgana.”

“So, Uther doesn’t think I can protect myself,” Morgana said testily.

Leon winced. “He just wants you safe and he’s doing everything in his power to do that.”

Morgana struggled to hold back a snort. Instead, she said, “You’re right. I’m simply overacting. Now, come. We must be going if I ever hope to get there on time.” She paused before turning to her friend. “Oh, and Gwen, you can take the night off if you want. I’m sure today has been a very emotional day for you.”

Gwen nodded even though she didn’t look entirely pleased. “Thank you, milady. I shall see you tomorrow then.”

She sent a smile in her friend’s direction before turning to walk confidently down the hall, forcing Leon to run after her. Servants scurried out of her way as she made her way to the Grand Hall. It seemed only moments later she was standing in front of the great wooden doors. Instead of nodding at the guards to open the doors, Morgana froze. Was she ready for this? Was she ready to see Uther-- Arthur? What if they realized it was all a lie? What if they started ranting about magic, and she couldn’t hold her tongue? What if they found out? What if…What if…What if…

“Lady Morgana? Are you all right?”

Morgana blinked before forcing a fake smile onto her lips. “Yes, yes, it’s just hard to believe I’m finally back. It feels like a dream.”

_ More like a nightmare _ , A voice whispered harshly in her head.

Leon smiled sympathetically. “Well, this is very much reality, and those two in there,” Leon nodded to the Grand Hall, “really missed you.”

“And I them,” Morgana said softly. Taking a deep breath, she stood tall and smoothed out her skirt. She could do this. She was ready. A sharp nod to the guards caused them to open the doors with flourish. She walked confidently into the hall.

Uther and Arthur stood in sync as soon as she stepped foot into the hall. Her eyes flickered between the two of them. The look on Uther’s face was nothing short of adoration.  _ I wonder if he’d still love you if he knew you had magic _ , the voice whispered nastily in her mind. Arthur’s expression, on the other hand, seemed much more…  _ realistic _ . He looked hopeful, yet fearful at the same time. Morgana paused in thought. Now, why would he be fearful? Surely, he didn’t suspect… His eyes seemed to scan her as if he was looking for injuries, causing Morgana to relax. No, he didn’t suspect her; he was just worried about her. 

“Morgana,” Uther called, dragging her attention back to him, “I’m so glad you could join us this evening. Gaius was worried we would tax you too much, but you don’t seem…”

Morgana blinked in shock when Uther trailed off uncertainly for the first time in her life. Uther always spoke confidently, with a commanding quality, as if he was absolutely sure in what he was saying. For him to trail of uncertainly was more shocking than she cared to admit.

“It’s quite all right, my lord,” Morgana assured him, “Besides, I’d rather be with the company of others than by myself right now. The mind has a habit of drawing on old memories when you’re alone, don’t you agree?”

A dark look flickered across his face. Morgana could only guess at what he was thinking. “Yes, I quite agree. The mind always knows what hurts us most.” Morgana listened curiously. Maybe he would say something that Morgause could use. 

Instead, Uther reached over and squeezed her hand sympathetically before saying, “And that is why we must seek comfort in others. It is easier to forget painful memories while in the company of friends and family.”

Uther turned and lead her to the table. “Now, come we have much to talk about.”

Gracefully, Morgana sat down at the left side of the head of the table, the two men following her action seconds later. “So, what are we having tonight?” Morgana questioned before trying to lighten the mood, “I must say, whatever it is, has to be a thousand times better than what I’ve had over the past year.”

The two men winced, causing Morgana to sigh. They needed to get over this. It had only been two days and already she was tired of them treating her like a porcelain doll. A small smirk played on her lips when a thought came to her. “Although, I have to say I never resorted to eating rat, unlike some people I know.”

Across the table, Arthur choked on his drink. 

The quiet giggles that escaped from Morgana slowly caused the to men to relax. Soon enough, Arthur was chuckling too, choosing not to retort with the comeback that had been on the tip of his tongue and instead, letting the woman he viewed as a sister have her fun. Uther stared at the two in confusion before huffing to himself and signaling to the servants to serve the food.

A plate was placed carefully in front of Morgana, startling her from her antics. “Oh, thank--” She froze when she turned and her eyes connected with a pair of concerned cobalt eyes. “You,” She finished flatly, turning back to the table.

“It was nothing, milady,” Merlin whispered softly from behind her.

Morgana refused to answer him and instead turned her attention to back to the king as she picked up her fork. “So, tell me what I’ve missed.  _ Something  _ exciting must have happened while I was… away. So, what was it? A tournament? A feast? A new lady love in your life perhaps?” Morgana asked, arching an eyebrow.

Uther chuckled but shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. I have been much too busy to even think of marriage these days.”

“You’re still in the prime of your life!” Morgana lied, ignoring how Arthur choked on his drink again, “You should give love a chance. You, of all people, deserve to be happy.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Uther agreed, a soft smile on his face.

Morgana turned to Arthur, who quickly avoided eye contact with her. “And don’t think you can escape the inquisition, Arthur. Anyone new in your life? Should I be getting friendly with a next future queen?”

“No--not at all. No one new,” Arthur stuttered, his face gradually turning red.

Morgana smirked. “Really? No one?” She paused, waiting for an answer but continued when he remained silent, “Well, that just goes to show that you can’t trust gossip, now can you?”

“Gossip? About my son?” Uther asked calmly, but Morgana could hear the cold threat in his tone.

Morgana waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it wasn’t anything substantial. Some of the maids just thought he seemed more distracted than usual. And then, I heard there was an incident involving a bouquet of flowers?”

Arthur flushed red and scowled. “They weren’t flowers! They were herbs for Gaius!”

“Really? Herbs? Because the kitchen staff said they looked a  _ lot _ like wildflowers.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, because the kitchen staff can tell the difference between between medicinal herbs and flowers.”

Morgana gasped in fake shock. “Why, Arthur! You must have expanded your vocabulary when I was gone! Medicinal? Impressive!”   

“I know what medicinal means!” Arthur snapped before muttering, “At least I wasn’t the one who mixed up the words ‘erratic’ and ‘erotic.’”

Morgana blushed crimson. “I was nine! And anyway, at least I wasn’t the one who stuttered in the middle of a speech and said ‘clitoris’ instead of--”

“Morgana!” Uther cut her off harshly, “I know you’ve been surrounded by…barbarians for over a year, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t speak like a lady of your class!”

Morgana scowled, and Arthur sent her a smug look from across the table. A sharp retort was at the tip of her tongue, but a quiet snort from behind her caught her attention. She turned around slowly. Merlin was standing behind her, clutching a pitcher of wine for dear life as he tried desperately not to laugh. Morgana arched an eyebrow at him and sent him a look that clearly stated  _ aren’t you in enough trouble already? _ Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.

Arthur stared at the two in confusion before quickly glancing away when Morgana turned back. 

A silence descended across the table, and Morgana began to pick at her food again. Who did he think he was? Laughing at her? After everything he’d done? What did she ever see in him? He’s an absolute arse! Morgana shook her head. Why was she even bothering to think about him? He’s nobody--a servant--nothing compared to her. 

“Are you all right, Morgana?” Uther asked.

Morgana looked up. “Yes, why?”

“You don’t seem to be yourself tonight.”

She viciously stabbed a carrot. “It’s nothing. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Uther nodded. “Of course. It’s understandable after everything you’ve been through.” He turned to his son. “Arthur, are you any closer to finding that sorceress?”

Arthur winced and looked down at his plate. “No, father. Unfortunately, we haven’t found any leads yet,” He glanced up at Morgana and said with the utmost sincerity, “But I promise, Morgana, I will find her, no matter how long it takes. She will pay for hurting you.”

Morgana smiled softly. Maybe she was wrong. Arthur seemed so sincere like he truly cared for her. He seemed more concerned about the fact that she had been hurt, rather than the fact that the person who supposedly hurt her had magic. Maybe he wouldn’t be a problem she thought he would be. If he truly cared for her, she could convince him magic wasn’t so bad, that it was  _ good _ .

“See that you do,” Uther said, punctuating each word with a slice of his knife, “We cannot allow this witch to go free. After everything she’s done--invading Camelot, kidnapping Morgana, _ performing magic _ \--that sorceress needs to pay for her crimes!”  

“Of course, father. Don’t worry. I will find the sorceress, and she will get the justice she deserves.”

Morgana slumped. No, she never had a chance at getting Arthur on her side. He was too much like Uther. He only saw the bad in magic, never the good. Morgana sighed and took a sip of her wine. She had been right earlier today; Arthur would be a problem. She carefully set down her glass, making sure that her hand didn’t shake. There was no use clinging to false hope.

Suddenly, Morgana saw a flicker of movent out of the corner of her eye. She flinched harshly when she saw Merlin stepping towards her, a pitcher of wine in his hands. A memory flickered to the forefront of her mind.  _ Merlin kneeling in front of her, his usually open face clouded with fear, a waterskin in his hand. “Here, have some water. You’ll feel better.” _

Morgana’s hand shot forward and covered the top of her glass just as Merlin moved to fill it again. He yelped and struggled to yank the pitcher back from her hand without dumping the wine down her arm. He stared at her with wide eyes. “Lady Morgana?!”

“No, thanks,” Morgana snapped, not bothering to take the bite out of words, “I’m not thirsty.”

A pained expression flashed across his face, but he nodded and stepped back, his eyes glued to his feet. “Of course, milady.”

“In fact,” Morgana said, pushing away from the table, “I believe I am finished entirely.”

Merlin’s head snapped up, a startled look on his face.

“Are you sure, Morgana?” Uther asked.

“Gana, you’ve barely touched your food,” Arthur commented, concern clear in his voice.

Morgana glanced at her plate. He was right. At the very most, she had only taken a few bites. In fact, it just looked as if she had pushed her food around. “I guess I just wasn’t that hungry.”

“If you’re sure you are finished you should go to your room. Try to rest. But if you’re still not hungry tomorrow, you should go see Gaius. Is that understood?” Uther ordered.

Morgana stood and mumbled, “Of course, my lord,” before fleeing from the hall as fast as she could while still maintaining a respectable pace.

Merlin started after her but paused glancing back at Arthur. Arthur nodded towards the door. “Go. Make sure she gets to her room safely, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded hurriedly before handing his pitcher to another servant and running out of the hall. 

Morgana stormed through the empty corridors to her room. Some unknown emotion coursed through her veins. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, grief, or some strange combination of the two. She scowled. Why was she allowing some servant to drag this sort of reaction out of her? He was  _ nothing, _ and she was training to be a high priestess!

Her steps slowed for a second before they became faster. Because that wasn’t really true. Merlin wasn’t nothing, no matter what she told herself. He was kind and sweet and saw the best in everything. At least he used to. Back when she loved him.

Morgana sighed with relief when she finally saw her door. She blew into her room, taking her anger out on the door by slamming it as hard as she could, but instead of a satisfying bang, there was only a faint thud followed by muffled cursing. She turned around in confusion only to see Merlin standing in the doorway, rubbing harshly at his hand.

“What are you doing here? Following me? Get out! I don’t want you here!” Morgana snarled.

Instead of leaving like she ordered, he simply closed (and locked, she noticed nervously) the door before turning to face her, a pained look on his face. “We need to talk, Morgana.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“ _Yes._ _We do_ ,” Merlin said before pleading, “Please, Morgana. Let me explain.”

“Explain  _ what _ ?!?” Morgana snapped, “How you lied to me? How you literally let a sorceress kidnap me?” She chose to ignore the fact that Morgause was her sister, whom she actually had  _ wanted _ to go with. After all,  _ Merlin _ didn’t know that. “Or, better yet, how you  _ poisoned me and left me to die! _ ”

Merlin flinched. “I-I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice!”

“Didn’t have a choice?!” Morgana cut him off incredulously, “Do you know how many times you told me to drink from that waterskin?  _ Five times, _ Merlin. Nobody forced your hand. Hell, nobody else was even there with us, besides an unconscious Uther! You had a choice, Merlin, and you made it when you convinced me to drink from that waterskin.”

“You’re right,” Merlin said quietly, “I did make a choice, but it was a choice I was  _ forced to make _ . I didn’t want to poison you, but I had no other option! Everyone was asleep, Arthur and I were slowly weakening, and the Knights of Medhir were about to come bursting in--”

“So, you got scared and decided to poison the only person still awake? Because obviously, the person with magic was the one responsible for everything!”

“No, I didn’t think you were responsible!” Merlin paused before contradicting himself by saying, “Well, I kind of did, but I didn’t think it was your fault!”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Morgana asked in confusion.

“You were still awake and you shouldn’t have been! Your magic shouldn’t have kept you awake! The only thing that would have kept you awake is if you were what the curse was bound to. Camelot would have fallen if the curse wasn’t broken! But the only way to break the curse was to ki-kill you…” Merlin trailed off.

Morgana tried to make sense of what he had said, but she just couldn’t. It made absolutely no sense! “What are you  _ talking about _ ? It was my magic that kept me awake. It had to have been; I would have known if someone had put a spell on me! And anyway, how could you possibly know that killing me would have stopped the curse even if I was the cause of it?”

Merlin's eyes widened slightly before he stuttered. “Gaius was, um, he was trying to figure out what was causing everyone to feel ill before he fell asleep, and he wrote in his notes that a spell that big had to be tied to someone and that the only way to break the curse would be by killing that person…”

Morgana snorted, ignoring the slight burning in her eyes. “Were you even sure I was the one the curse was bound to? Or did you just take a chance?”

Merlin flinched. “I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had to do  _ something _ , Morgana! I couldn’t let Morgause take over Camelot.”

“So, you were just going to kill me instead? Dammit, Merlin, I thought you loved me! I thought I could count on you! But instead, you turned around and stabbed me in the fucking back! How could you do that to me? I trusted you! Why didn’t you just tell me Gaius’ idea, so we could have tried to figure something out together?” Morgana didn’t even try to fight her emotions anymore.

“I did love you! I  _ still _ love you,” Merlin said beseechingly, “I just--I panicked, and then I was out of time. I had to do something before I fell asleep too. I had to save Camelot.”    

“So you choose Camelot over me? You choose Camelot over your--” Morgana cut herself off, her eyes widening at what she almost told him.

Merlin ran a hand through his hair, causing parts of it to stand straight up. If this was another time, another place, Morgana would have laughed at him, but right now all she could think about was the fact that her son’s hair did the same thing, and she could have lost him because of his own father. “I had to make a choice, Morgana,” Merlin said softly, “Was the life of one worth more than the lives of countless civilians?”  _ Two, _ the voice in her head corrected,  _ the lives of two. _ “It-it was for the greater good. I’m sorry.”

“The  _ greater good _ ,” Morgana snarled, “You’re not the one who is supposed to decide what is for the  _ greater good _ . If that was  _ anyone’s  _ decision to make, it should have been Arthur’s or mine!  _ Not yours _ . I may have loved you, but that doesn’t give you the power to decide who lives and who dies.”

Merlin flinched and looked away. His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“Yeah, well, saying you’re sorry doesn’t make up for what you did. It doesn’t make up for the fact that you tried to poison me. And it doesn’t make up for the fact that not even days before you did that, you were telling me how much you loved me.” Morgana ignored how her voice broke slightly.  “Over this past year, I have witnessed true evil. But what you did to me was worse than everything I’ve witnessed. Just go, Merlin. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Merlin jerked as if he had been slapped. “Morgana, please--”

“ _ Go. _ ”

Merlin flinched again and he hung his head. “Ok, I’ll go.”

He turned and headed for the door, but when he reached the threshold he paused. “I know you won’t believe me,” Merlin said quietly, “But I’ve regretted my actions since the very moment you drank the poison. All I could think about when I was holding you was how I had just made the worst mistake of my life and killed the person I love most. If I could go back and do it all over again, I would never even touch that bottle of hemlock.”

“That’s the thing about life,” Morgana said harshly, “You don’t get second chances. You have to live with the consequences of your actions, no matter how much you regret what you’ve done.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped. “Goodnight, love.”

Before she could snap that she wasn’t his love, the door was already closing again with a quiet click. Morgana stormed over to the door and slammed the lock in place before she allowed herself to sink to the floor, sobbing. The grief and pain she had been trying to ignore for over a year finally came to the surface, and there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was curl up into a ball and wait for the onslaught of emotions to subside. Eventually, there were no more tears to cry and she fell into a fitful slumber, leaving the room quiet once more. Unknown to Morgana, quiet footsteps were the sign of Merlin finally retreating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, they finally confront each other! And there was actual emotion and they weren't just lying through their teeth! I'm sorry but that just made me so mad when there was no true confrontation in the series. I really wanted that to happen so I kinda just wrote it... Anyway, I hope you liked it! Don't be afraid to tell me what you think!


	8. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirror, Mirror on the wall show me my family once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand I'm back! So this chapter was extremely hard for many reasons (that will be explained down below) but this is a really long chapter so I hope that makes up for it. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it and tell me what you think!

Harry wandered through the silent halls of Hogwarts. He was still in disbelief that he was actually here--that magic was _real_ \--even though it was already December. It makes sense now that he actually thinks about it. All of the strange things he could do--all of his freakishness--all of it was magic. It explained so much now that he thought about it. Well, hindsight is always 20/20.

Hogwarts, itself, though, was very strange. It was everything he expected, yet, at the same time, nothing like he thought it would be. He had expected the many classes on magic, ( and the many feet of homework to an extent) but he hadn’t expected the pure _insanity_ that came with the school. Teachers were biased, house rivalries were violent, the school sport was potentially deadly, and the staircases _moved_! Honestly, how did teachers still expect everyone to be on time?

But none of this compared to the fact that the entire school seemed to lose its mind when it came to him. Harry had planned on keeping his head down by getting average grades, staying on the good side of all the teachers, and being ‘friendly’ with everybody, but it soon became clear that this would be impossible for him. Maybe if it was a different time, or, rather, he was a different _person_ , it would be possible, but not now.

Every action he took seemed to have severe consequences. Even things that he had no control over had seemed to have repercussions for him. Since his parents were Gryffindors, everyone assumed he would be as well. Except, he didn’t really feel like a Gryffindor. He didn’t fit in with the Lions. He didn’t act rashly. He wasn’t chivalrous. He didn’t care about the morality of certain things. And he most certainly wasn’t _brave_ , no matter what the rest of his house thought.

Harry snorted. Him? _Brave?_ That was definitely not something he would describe himself as, especially after spending eleven years with the Dursleys. He learned very quickly that being brave did him no good. It was better to just keep his head down and as far away Vernon’s fists as possible.

No, Harry wasn’t a true Gryffindor, and it only became more obvious as time passed by. He was that lone puzzle piece that didn’t fit with any of the other pieces but had been crammed in with them even though he was from an entirely different puzzle. He was beginning to wonder if he should have listened to the Hat, if he should have let it place him where he wanted. A vacant look appeared on his face as he was drawn into a memory.

_“Potter, Harry?”_

_Whispers filled the hall as Harry took a deep breath and void his face of any emotion, leaving it a bored mask._

_“That’s you, Harry,” Ron whispered behind him as if he didn’t know his own name. Annoyance flickered through him, but he squashed it down, only for it to be replaced by nervousness again. Choosing to not dwell on the emotion or to let it affect him in any way, Harry strode forward confidently and sat down on the stool. Mcgonagall placed the hat on his head, but it was so big that it fell over his eyes. He froze when a voice other than his own spoke in his head._

_“Interesting. Very, very interesting,” the voice drawled._

_“Interesting?” Harry echoed, “What’s interesting? And what are you doing in my head?”_

_“Now, surely you didn’t think I was an inanimate object, did you? No, I was enchanted by the Founders to look into the minds of students and place them in the appropriate house without any form of bias.”_

_Harry tensed. Look into the mind? But if the hat was in his head, he could see everything. All his thoughts, feelings, secrets. He could see--_

_“Do not worry, lad,” the Sorting Hat comforted softly, “I can’t reveal anything personal about a student except their house; the Founders made sure of that long ago. Your secrets are safe with me.”_

_Harry relaxed slightly. “ You still didn’t answer my question. What’s so interesting?”_

_“I would have thought that was obvious,” the hat commented lightly, “_ You _are what’s interesting.”_

_Harry snorted. “You must be mistaken. There’s nothing special about me.”_

_“That is where you are wrong. Just because you don’t think you are, it doesn’t mean you’re any less special.”_

_“What’s so special about me?” Harry snapped, “The fact I survived the killing curse? I expected better from you, hat. I didn’t think you’d be taken in by all that nonsense as well.”_

_“You surviving the killing curse isn’t what makes you special,” The hat agreed before saying something that caused Harry to freeze, “That was your mother’s doing. But I digress. You are blinded by your own eyes and others’ words. Let me tell you what I see._

_“I see a child who is not stopped by fear, but, instead, thrives in situations others would think hopeless. I see the potential for a great mind and the talent to accompany it. I see the thirst to prove yourself to all who see you as weak and the drive to change the world around you. I also see the gentle soul that you try to hide. You care for others no matter if it only causes you pain, but for some reason, you view that as a weakness. That is what I see. That is what makes you so interesting.”_

_Harry sat stunned, unsure of what to say, but the hat continued without any prompting. “Now, the question is where to put you.”_

_Harry’s mind began to race, going over everything he had learned about the wizarding world in the past few months. Eventually, he whispered, “Not Slytherin.”_

_The hat paused above him. “Are you sure? It’s all right here in your head. You could be great, and Slytherin would help you on the way to that greatness.”_

_Harry licked his lips nervously before replying quietly, “I can’t afford to be great. At least, not yet. I know Voldemort’s men are still out there and most of them came from Slytherin. If I’m sorted there, I’ll be living with the children or grandchildren of the people who helped kill my parents. I can’t do that. I’d be constantly paranoid, and I’m not strong or smart enough to take them on yet. I would be no match for them. Right now, I need to stay hidden, do what’s expected until finally I can strike. That’s when I can be great. No sooner.”_

_The Sorting Hat remained silent for a moment as if evaluating him. “I must say you are remarkably like your parents,” the hat said eventually, “They both had similar plans of action in their lives, but their plans did not end nearly as well as they had hoped they would. By hiding who you truly are, pain and deceit will dominate most of your life.”_

_“I’m willing to suffer through a little pain if it means I’ll be safe.”_

_“But you shouldn’t have to,” the hat countered, “You may be surprised with how few people in Slytherin want to cause you harm.”_

_But there are still some who do. I have a plan on how to figure out who I can trust and who I can’t in Slytherin,” Harry replied, thinking back on the boy with blonde hair and an arrogant smirk, “But I can’t live in a house where I’m constantly paranoid and looking over my shoulder. Please, don’t put me there.”_

_The Sorting Hat sighed, “If you are sure…” before talking to himself, “If not Slytherin, then where should I put you? Not Hufflepuff. Already you are much too hard and have such a pessimistic outlook on the world, even though you do care for people. You would be wary of their kind nature and distance yourself from them while they in turn would be confused about your harsh temperament.”_

_“That only leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.”_

_“Gryffindor, please,” Harry whispered._

_“Gryffindor, you say? I’m not so sure how well you would fit in that house.”_

_Harry mentally shrugged. “It’s where everyone expects me to go. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I need to stay_ hidden. _The best way to do that is to do what people expect.”_

_The hat hummed to itself. “I suppose you could do well in Gryffindor. You can act rashly at times… And I must say, you do have a temper. But you would also do well in Ravenclaw. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. The only problem with that is, again, your temper. It’s clear in your memories that when somebody makes you angry you act more on your emotions rather than taking in all the facts.”_

_Harry held his breath nervously as the hat continued to debate. There wasn’t anything he could do. The hat had the ultimate decision when it came to his house, no matter the amount of pleading or demanding. Eventually the Sorting Hat grunted to himself and nodded. “Yes, although would make a great Slytherin, as would your parents, given the chance, I believe you need to be in_ GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry sighed and shook his head. Whether the choice he had made was good or bad, the decision was already made. To the world he was just another rash, foolhardy Gryffindor, even though he had more in common with the Slytherins, and it showed. But he had no right to complain. After all, this was what he wanted… or, at least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself.

A quiet meow jerked Harry from his thoughts and caused him to melt into the shadows. Filch limped his way into the hallway causing Harry to curse in his mind. He had thought Filch would be on the other side of the castle tonight but evidently not.  

“Come on out, kiddie,” Filch called. Harry wrinkled his nose at the creepy anticipation that he heard in the man’s voice before carefully slinking away. He turned down hallways at random, never keeping a clear path to a room, but Filch’s footsteps followed him doggedly. In desperation, Harry picked up speed until he eventually lost the caretaker, but he could still hear the faint patter of the paws of that damned cat. He turned through another door, only to freeze in horror. Instead of another corridor like he expected, it was an unused classroom. Harry opened the door again in hopes of escaping before realizing the Filch’s footsteps could be heard again and they were much, _much_ closer than before. He had no forms of escape. Closing the door once more, Harry clutched his invisibility cloak closer to himself and hoped the man would pass.

The footsteps slowed dangerously as they got closer to the door. Harry held his breath when the footsteps finally stopped right outside the door.

“Well, Mrs. Norris?” Filch asked breathily, “Where’d he go?”

Harry was tempted to growl. His fate depended on an overweight cat with a temper, and there was nothing he could do about it.

After several long seconds, Mrs Norris meowed again and took off down the hall, causing Filch to curse and limp after her.

Harry sighed in relief and leaned back on the door. That had been close--to close. He hadn’t got a detention as of yet, (although some teachers seemed to be _looking_ for a reason) and he couldn’t afford one now. Who knows, they might force him back to the Dursleys’ for the rest of Christmas break as punishment. Harry shuddered at the thought. He could imagine how furious they would be; they thought they wouldn’t have to deal with him again until summer.

A faint glimmer of gold caught his eyes and drew him out of his thoughts. A large, shadowed figure stood in the corner of the room. It was exceptionally tall, and a large beige sheet obscured whatever it truly was. A huge golden claw peeked out from under the edge of the sheet. Harry stepped closer to the object, the invisibility cloak slipping to the floor as his curiosity got the better of him. He reached up and gently pulled the cloth off. Immediately, a cloud of dust erupted around him, causing him to cough loudly. Eventually, the dust settled and his eyes stopped watering, allowing him to finally figure out what the mysterious object was.

It was a gigantic mirror. It towered over Harry in a mass of pure gold and shimmering silver. The mirror was almost too intimidating to look at it was so big. The two golden claws it was standing on were easily the size of both his fists combined, and at the top of the mirror were three sharp golden peaks that Harry thought looked sharp enough to slit his finger if he touched one. On a whole, the mirror looked very intimidating, but there was something strangely…alluring about it. Harry stepped closer, noticing the odd swirling quote etched at the top of the mirror.

“Erised stra e-ehru,” Harry stuttered, “oyt ube ca-cafru oyt on woshi.”

Harry cocked his head and muttered to himself, “Now, what does _that_ mean?”  
He stepped in front of the mirror fully, in hopes of reading the inscription better before his eyes were drawn to the mirror itself.

He prepared himself for the embarrassment of spindly limbs, messy hair, and a too pale complexion, but it never came. Instead, he saw a confident boy facing himself in the mirror. In place of his sickly complexion, his counterpart had a healthy tan, although it was not dark by no means. Instead of his stick like arms and legs, his mirror image had the lithe build of a runner or a football player, something Harry doubted he’d ever achieve. But the most startling was the look in his counterpart’s eyes--a look Harry had never seen in his own even though he had in many others’--  and the soft smile on the boy’s lips. Harry touched his own lips. It had been a long time  since something besides a smirk or a frown had graced his lips.

Harry violently shook his head and stepped back. This mirror, it--it was strange. Something was off about it. He shouldn’t let himself be pulled in. And, yet, Harry couldn’t drag his eyes away from the image. That is why he didn’t miss another person stepping behind his counterpart.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he whipped around. Carefully, he scanned the unused classroom, but nobody was there. He was alone. There was nothing out of place, no shadow that should not have been there. Harry bent down to pick up his invisibility cloak. It was still on the floor, so nobody was hiding under it. Nobody was there. Harry faced the mirror again and stared in confusion at the man that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Harry eyed the man curiously. Since he was obviously not in the classroom, maybe the man was in the mirror? Harry huffed to himself before shaking his head incredulously. Ever since he learned that magic was real, it seemed that anything was possible--even things that he _knew_ weren’t possible. There were somethings that magic just couldn’t do like necromancy (Hermione had immediately became worried when he asked about it. She went on an hour long rant about the morality of the subject before explaining in detail how magic could possibly bring something back from the dead. That didn’t stop her from glancing at him worriedly every time his parents were mentioned, though) and time travel. It just wasn’t _possible._ People can’t get trapped in mirrors.

Plus, the man also looked strangely familiar--which was weird in itself since Harry very rarely forgot a face. Something about the man was familiar, though; his mind could be dissuaded. Was it his dark blue eyes, messy black hair….or mischievous smile on his face that Harry found familiar? Harry’s eyes lingered on the man’s face a second longer before taking in the way the man put a gentle hand on his counterpart’s shoulder. Harry’s mouth dropped open when the boy in the mirror didn’t flinch and pull away but, instead, actually leaned _into_ the touch. Harry’s eyes widened as he took in the full image--the hair, the smile, the _touch_.

“ _Dad?_ ” Harry whispered in shock.

The man--James, his father’s name was James, not _the man_ \-- simply smiled.

Harry stepped as close as he could to the mirror and pressed his palms to the mirror. “Dad? Dad, can you hear me?” Harry asked desperately, “Please, _please,_ answer me.”

Harry stared at his father, hoping for any kind of acknowledgement. Instead of doing what Harry so desperately wished for, James nodded to someone outside of his field of vision. _Could--could it be?_ Harry could only watch with wide, hopeful eyes as a woman stepped into the mirror.

Harry’s hope faltered for a moment though when he actually looked at the woman. Because the woman standing beside his father--one hand holding James’ hand, the other on Harry’s doppelganger's shoulder--was not Lily Potter. In fact, this woman looked nothing like the description everyone gave about his mother. Instead of wearing sporty clothes and a playful grin, this woman was weighed down in an elegant dress and looked almost…regal. Her long black hair that fell in soft ringlets around her shoulders was nothing like the fiery red curls he had been expecting.

The only thing that matched the description everyone gave him about his mother was her eyes. They were large, emerald, and held so much _power_. A power that nobody had ever mentioned to him. Harry watched as her eyes began to sparkle and glitter from unshed tears. Those eyes were exactly like his own.

“Mum,” Harry whispered brokenly, “Dad.”

His parents motioned again and more people began to filter in behind them. Harry watched glassy eyed as a blond man with broad shoulders pulled a curly haired brunette into the frame before smiling broadly at him. Harry smiled back at them weakly. More people filled the frame; more people than he thought possible. He hadn’t realized he had had this big of a family. There was just so _many_. More than he could have ever hoped for. Harry’s eyes filtered over the group, going from person to person, trying to take it all in. One man with shoulder length hair waved cheerfully to Harry before clapping his father on the back and laughing merrily. Another man with curly hair shook his head and rolled his eyes at the man before smiling good-naturedly. A tall man, who seemed to be just a few inches shorter than Hagrid, waved at Harry hesitantly before a dark skinned man punched him on the arm and gave Harry a large, energetic wave.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” Harry stuttered, “I don’t know any of your names.”

A surge of anger followed the words. He didn’t know any of these people. Nobody had ever bothered to tell him anything about his parents, his _family_ . And now he was standing in front of them, and he didn’t even know their _names_ , much less how they’re related to him. Everyone just assumed he already knew everything about his family, and it made his blood boil. Nobody had bothered.

Were some of them muggles? Were they all witches and wizards? They certainly _looked_ like they lived in the wizarding world since all of them were wearing the strange cloaks and tunics that Harry had come to attribute to witches and wizards. Still, guessing games weren’t enough. He needed to _know_. He needed to know everything about them. What were their names? How was he related to them? How old were they when they died? Had Harry met any of them when he was younger? So many questions, so few answers.   

Harry spent the night sitting in front of the mirror, his mind full of unanswered questions as he stared at the family he never got the chance to know.

* * *

 

“Ron, it’s not that big of a deal,” Harry grumbled as he pushed his dinner around his plate.

“Yeah, it is, mate,” Ron said, putting down his fork, “You’ve been obsessing over this mirror for three days now. It’s not healthy.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but took in the way his friend had pushed his plate away. Ron must be serious if he is focusing more on the argument than his food. “It’s perfectly fine. And, anyway, it’s my family, Ron. If I have a chance to see them, I’m going to take it.”

“We don’t even know if the people in the mirror _are_ your family! That woman you described sounds nothing like your mother! Everybody knows Lily Evans was a redhead---not a brunette!”

“They were in the middle of a war. She might have dyed her hair black for better anonymity. After all, _everyone knows that muggleborn Lily Evans had red hair_ ,” Harry shot back.

“You just don’t know magical objects like I do, Harry,” Ron said, causing Harry to stiffen. He hated when someone pointed out that he didn’t understand things that most purebloods had been taught since birth, and Ron had just blatantly done so.

The other boy continued on, though, not noticing the dark glare Harry was giving him. “Hell, my Dad finds magical objects that go insane for a living! He always says ‘don’t trust anything that you can’t figure out where it keeps its brain.’ And, mate, I don’t have a bloody clue where that mirror keeps its brain, so I don’t trust it!”

“Fine,” Harry snarled, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll research the mirror _as well as_ Nicholas Flammel, but I’m _not_ going to stop seeing it!”

“No, that’s not good enough!” Ron argued, “This mirror is weird! We shouldn’t trust it. It obviously has an allure or-or something on it. Why else would you be obsessing over it like this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I can see my family in it?” Harry snapped before shoving himself away from the table, “You know what? You don’t get it. Your family's _alive_.”

Harry stormed out of the hall, ignoring how Ron called after him. Ron couldn’t just order him not to do something! Harry didn’t care if they _were_ friends; nobody had the right to tell him what to do with his life!

So caught up in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t notice the faint sound of footsteps pacing his own.

“Have another fight with Weaselbe, now, did you?” A voice drawled.

Harry tried to hide a flinch of surprise.

“Malfoy,” he replied, keeping his voice deceptively even, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Yes, well, it’s obvious that your judgement isn’t the most reliable thing, now is it?” Malfoy said with nasty smirk, “This is what happens when you make friends with the wrong sort.” He dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “They tend to stick their noses into other people’s business and muck everything up.”

“Funny,” Harry said innocently, “If I make friends with the wrong sort, what does that make you?”

“An ally,” Malfoy snapped. A deep scowl settled on his face. “A partnership with mutual benefits. An acquaintance. Call it whatever you want, but remember we’re _not_ friends. You made that very clear when you rejected my handshake.”

“You should be careful how you phrase things, Malfoy,” Harry commented lightly, “You sound like a scorned lover.”

Malfoy flushed a pale pink.

Harry smirked. ‘Point one to me,’ he thought to himself, starting the game he always seemed to be playing with the Slytherin. A game full of biting comments and snide remarks that the two played so well. A game Harry thoroughly enjoyed. But Harry only dared to play it with the young Malfoy. Ron and Hermione never seemed to be able to handle his sarcastic comments even if he was joking, much less an insult. So, Harry never started the game with them (Although, he was certain Hermione would be an amazing opponent if she wanted to be.). For now, he would be content with playing with Malfoy and _only_ Malfoy. After all, the Slytherin had a certain way with words; it made their verbal sparring… interesting, to say the least, but he limited himself to the blond boy. Although their alliance of sorts was shaky, this was a small enough piece of himself that Harry doubted the Slytherin would ever bother to tell anyone about it even if it wasn’t exactly a Gryffindor trait.     

“And anyway,” Harry continued, “You were being a prick. You pissed me off when you phrased the question as if I didn’t have the capability to choose what is best for me. _I_ know what’s best for me. Not anyone else.”

“I still don’t see how the _weasel_ and the _mudblood_ ,” Malfoy spat out, “Are good for you.”

Harry glared at the Slytherin. He was dangerously toeing the line. Although insulting friends wasn’t exactly breaking the rules of the game, it still threw the two into dangerous territory. There was always the potential for an insult to get too real, too much, and then their alliance would dissolve so completely that it would be beyond salvaging. “You know, for a Slytherin,” he growled, targeting Malfoy where he knew it would hurt, “you really are brash. You would have made a great Gryffindor.”

Malfoy flinched. Served him right.

“And it doesn’t matter what _you_ think. They’re not _your_ friends. They’re _my_ friends, and _I_ think they’re useful. Ron is loyal to a fault, and Hermione is a bloody genius. I’d rather have them _with_ me than _against_ me. Same goes for you.”

“Still,” Malfoy hissed, “He’s a blood traitor and she’s a mudblood.”

“And I’m a half-blood and you’re a pureblood!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, “What a merry band we make! But, seriously, Malfoy, do you honestly think I care about what blood status people have? If I did I’d be a hypocrite. It’s not like I’m protecting a pureblood heritage!”

Malfoy grabbed Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to stop. Harry stiffened at the unexpected touch. The Slytherin carefully released his grip and stepped back, a strange glint in his eyes before it was wiped away.

“Just because you’re a half-blood, it doesn’t mean you’re just _any_ half-blood. You’re the heir of one of the Ancient Houses. That means you have power. And power seeks power. You won’t get that from mudbloods and blood traitors.”

“And you’re powerful?”

Malfoy nodded hesitantly, causing Harry to hum to himself. “That’s why you wanted to be friends with me, wasn’t it? And why even after I rejected your friendship you still persisted in making whatever the hell this is? Because _power seeks power_.”

Malfoy watched Harry warily.

“But there’s something you’re forgetting, Malfoy,” Harry continued with a quiet strength, “It’s a new age. It is what we make it. We decide who has the power and who doesn’t. Not are parents, not are teachers, not the ministry-- _us_. We are the ones who hold power over the future. That’s why all the adults try to control us and force their ideas into our heads--because they know that with each passing day, their power over us will dwindle until they have absolutely no control over us. They know if they brainwash us into agreeing with them and all their ideals, then they’ll be safe, protected.

“But we don’t have to listen to them,” Harry continued passionately, “Not if we don’t want to. That’s why I’m not consumed with keeping the pureblood hierarchy safe and untainted.  Because I _refuse to listen to them_ . Because I know that in this generation, muggleborns and half-bloods out number purebloods ten to one. And I know that power lies in numbers _not_ in a person’s blood.”

Malfoy stared at the boy, deep in thought before eventually grumbling, “There _is_ power in blood, though. A lot of power. Why else would so many powerful wizards be purebloods?”

“Are you sure about that?” Harry asked with a smirk, “Are you _absolutely positive_? Or are you just repeating what people have told you? Think carefully. It’s decisions like these that set the course of a lifetime.”

Malfoy faltered slightly before his face hardened. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Harry gave a sharklike grin full of challenge. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see which is more powerful: blood or numbers.”

“I guess we will,” Malfoy agreed warily before smirking, “I hope you take the loss well. Nobody likes a sore loser.”

Harry frowned. Point one to Malfoy. Maybe he could still save this, though. Adopting a sugary tone, he simpered, “You’d know all about sore losers, now wouldn’t you, Malfoy.”

The Slytherin snorted, “Yeah. I know you.”

Point two to Malfoy.

Harry was off his game. Damn it. Oh well, he’d be back in the lead soon enough. He’d let the Slytherin enjoy his victory a little longer before he ripped it away.

“Anyway…” Harry said rolling his eyes, while in his mind he was desperately searching for a different subject. He drug out the word until a thought came to him. “The Ancient Houses!” He said a bit to excitedly, “What did you mean by ‘heir of one of the Ancient Houses?”  
“What? No biting comeback?” Malfoy snarked before the words actually registered, “Wait, you mean to tell me that you don’t know anything about the Ancient and Noble Houses?”

Harry tensed at the slight as the Slytherin huffed, “Well, this explains a lot! Why you say certain things, act a certain way. Merlin, this explains everything!” Harry could only watch in horror as Malfoy descended into lecture mode. “Ok, so, the Houses are these pureblood wizarding families. They are extremely powerful and they pretty much run the wizarding world. In fact, many of the Houses have a member on the Wizengamot and---”

“Ok! Ok! Ok!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, “Too many confusing words, too fast! Obviously, this is going to take a lot longer to explain than I anticipated, but it’s already late, and I still have a lot of research to do. You can explain everything to me later.”

Malfoy scowled in disappointment before a curious gleam entered his eyes. “Research? What kind of research?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s nothing, at least, nothing important anyway,” he grumbled before pausing in thought. “Actually…. You might be able to help me.”

Malfoy straightened slightly, a cocky smirk appearing on his face. “Really? Me? Not Weaslebe or Granger?”

“Yes, _you_ ,” Harry said rolling his eyes, “Hermione’s never heard of it, and Ron twitches every time I mention it.”

“Really?” Malfoy said gleefully, “So the two saints of Gryffindor have met their match! I always knew they weren’t as great as everyone claimed! Now, I’ve got to know!”

Harry took a deep breath, choosing to ignore the insults to his friends. Malfoy may know something about the mirror, and Harry didn’t want to scare him away. “Have you ever heard of a mirror… a mirror that shows you something you really want?”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Potter,” Malfoy huffed, “That description was about as generic as one of Quirrel’s lessons. I’m going to need more.”

Harry winced. “I know. I know. It’s just hard to describe…” he trailed off in thought which caused the Slytherin grumble impatiently, “But I can show you.”

Malfoy perked up slightly. “Really? Where is it?”

“Come on, it’s not far from here.”

Harry slipped through the corridors, not bothering to check if the Slytherin was following or not. The walk seemed longer than usual, but whether that was due to the unlikely duo trying to dodge other students and teachers or if the walk seemed longer because Harry was anticipating seeing the mirror again, he wasn’t sure. Eventually, they made it to the room without being seen. Harry quickly ushered Malfoy into the room before stopping him just inside the doorway.

“I have to warn you,” he said carefully, “this mirror… it-it shows you things that you really want. It doesn’t lie and it doesn’t beat around the bush. It shows you exactly what you want; nothing more, nothing less.”

Malfoy shoved past the Gryffindor. “You act like it’s dangerous.”

Harry grabbed the boy’s shoulder, stopping him before he could get any closer to the mirror. “It very well could be.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “But you don’t think so, do you?”

“No. I don’t think it’s dangerous,” Harry admitted quietly, “I think people just don’t like what they see sometimes, and it scares them.”

  “Don’t like what they see? Potter, you just told me this mirror shows you what you want. How can you not like it?”

“I should have phrased that better,” the Gryffindor grumbled to himself before explaining, “What I mean is that you can be embarrassed or guilty that what you see in the mirror is something you want.”

Harry’s mind drifted to Ron, and how he had reacted to after seeing the mirror. He still flinched and stuttered whenever he came close to his brothers, and his fiery temper was much worse than usual--especially when he felt like he was being compared to his brothers. He had almost made Hermione cry after she said he should be more responsible like Percy. Ron was getting better. Slowly. Very slowly.

Malfoy huffed, drawing Harry from his thoughts. “I’m sure it’s not that bad, Potter. Now, move out of the way. I want to see this mirror.”

The Slytherin shoved past him to stand in front of the shoddily covered mirror in the corner of the room. Harry sighed and moved to stand beside him.

“You have to stand directly in front of the mirror for it to work,” he directed, “Ready?”

An impatient glare had him yanking the sheet away. A heavy silence settled over the duo much like the dust that had settled over Harry the first time he uncovered this mirror. Harry opened his mouth to ask what the other boy was seeing but closed it when he saw the look of pure shock and longing on the Slytherin’s face, his cocky mask cracked beyond repair. Whatever Malfoy was seeing was private. He shouldn’t ask. Instead, he waited a few more minutes before asking, “Have you ever seen it before?”

Malfoy shook his head without taking his eyes off the mirror. “No. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Harry tried to ignore the sting of disappointment. “Have… have you ever heard of the quote at the top?”  
Malfoy forced his eyes away from the silvery surface of the mirror and instead directed them to the golden arches. His expression immediately changed to one of puzzlement as he mouthed the words to himself.

“Well,” he said disgruntally, “It’s nothing like any language I’ve ever seen.”

Harry slumped.

“But…”

Harry perked up slightly. “But what?”

“Doesn’t it look familiar?”

“What?” Harry’s eyes snapped up to the quote. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at the words,” Malfoy grumbled impatiently, “There are no strange letters or accents. It’s just normal letters all mixed up. There’s something about it that just seems… familiar.”

Harry stared up at the words. The Slytherin was right; something about the inscription looked strangely familiar. It didn't look like a foreign language; it just looked….weird. Like a two year old had mashed a bunch of letters together. It was just plain English lettering albeit in a jumbled messed.

Harry's eyes lingered in the first word, Erised. Malfoy claimed it looked familiar and Harry was inclined to agree. But why? Why was it so familiar? He played with the word in his mind, sounding it out, _twisting_ it in an attempt to figure out what was so familiar about the word ‘erised’.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Breathlessly, he exclaimed, “Desire.”

Now, it was Malfoy’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“Erised spelled backwards is desire!” Harry explained excitedly, “What if we’ve been looking at it all wrong? What if it’s not a different language---what if it’s a backwards sentence!”

“You might be on to something,” Malfoy said with more excitement in his voice than Harry had ever heard before, “I read this book about coding once and one of them was called ‘mirror writing’. It’s where someone writes a sentence backwards and it only makes sense if you read it through a mirror!”

“I don’t suppose you have a mirror on hand?” Harry asked driely, “Since we obviously can’t use the mirror it’s written on.”

Malfoy’s face fell. “No. And we’re ages away from learning how to transfigure objects into other objects.” He smiled suddenly. “But we can just write the sentence the right way!”  
Harry quickly searched his pockets. “Here, I have a pen and paper. You tell me the letters and I’ll write them down.”

The Slytherin looked curiously at the ballpoint pen in Harry’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Explain later! Recite now!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes before turning back to the mirror. Harry carefully wrote down the letters that the other boy recited in a monotone voice. With each letter, though, he became more and more agitated. After the last letter was written, Harry slammed down the pen in frustration and growled, “Well, there goes that idea!”

“What? Why?”

“These words make no sense! Tyo? Urfac? Urhe? These aren’t words; they’re nonsense!”

“What? Let me see that!” Malfoy snapped, snatching the paper out of his hands. He looked at it before blinking. “Merlin, Potter, your handwriting is atrocious!”  
“Well, not all of us had private tutors from the age of two!” Harry said snidely.

Malfoy’s face morphed into a look of confusion. “You didn’t?”

“Oh my god!” Harry exclaimed in shock, “You actually _did_?!”

“Well, yes. My parents wanted to make sure that I would be able to manage the Malfoy accounts and not dishonour the family. That meant being tutored on a variety of subjects,” the Slytherin said matter of factly, “But the question is why haven’t _you_? It would have been even more crucial for you since--”

Harry rolled his eyes dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. There’s a lot of things I haven’t done, but why don’t we stick with figuring out the mirror for now, yeah?”

Malfoy sighed and studied the paper once more. After a few minutes he exclaimed, “No, we were right to begin with! If you rearrange the spaces, it makes a sentence. See, it says ‘I show not your… face but your… hearts desire.”

Harry stared at him, a blank look on his face.

“What?” Malfoy said defensively, “I like puzzles.”

“Are you sure you’re not a Ravenclaw?” Harry asked cautiously, “Because that was more Ravenclaw than Slytherin.”  

Malfoy sneered. “ _Please._ Like I could ever be a _bluebird_. They never use their knowledge for anything useful.”

“Yes, and learning about coding is very useful,” Harry muttered under his breath before saying, “And I’m pretty sure the Ravenclaw’s symbol is an eagle, not a bluebird. Although why it’s not a raven is beyond me.”

“Whatever!” Malfoy snarled, “And _anyway_ …. Although, we’ve figured out the quote, it hasn’t really helped us. We already knew the mirror showed us what we wanted.”

Harry let the change of slide. Maybe he _shouldn’t_ have compared Malfoy to a Ravenclaw. The boy was certainly touchy about his house.

“Not necessarily,” he disagreed carefully, glancing up at the inscription once more, “I mean, I don’t know what you saw , but I know what I saw was really, really personal. It wasn’t something silly like a new broom or winning the house cup. It was more like if I had only one wish, I’d wish for that. So maybe it doesn’t just show something we want, but it shows what we truly want more than anything else.”

Harry frowned when the Slytherin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes traveled from the gold inscription down to the silvery surface of the mirror. Malfoy was standing behind him, looking at the mirror over the Gryffindor’s shoulder. His face was devoid of any color. Even his lips were white. Just as Harry opened his mouth to ask if he was ok, the Slytherin stuttered out a response.

“Maybe. It’s possible, but--I’m not sure. I need to research it.” His sentences were about as  jerky and halting as his movements. He motioned to the door that he was slowly stepping towards. “You know. I just remembered I need to finish a potions essay. I better go before it gets much later.”

Malfoy bolted the rest of the distance to the door before Harry could say anything. He paused at the threshold, not bothering to turn around, and said seriously, “You should be careful with this mirror, Potter. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.”  
And with that, the Slytherin disappeared into the hallway.

Harry frowned after him and his hasty departure. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just a mirror. It couldn’t hurt him. Anyway, all he wanted to do was see his family. Didn’t he deserve that after everything? Especially since nobody thought to ever tell him anything about them. Hell, he still didn’t know most of the people’s names in the mirror. Harry just wanted to see them, even if it wasn’t them in the flesh and blood, It wasn’t like he was going to raise them from the dead. He just… he just needed to see them. Malfoy was simply overreacting.

“This is the third night in a row that you’ve visited the mirror, Mr Potter. You seem to be making a habit of this.”

Harry jumped and whirled around, noting worriedly that the sunlight that had been streaming through the window had been replaced by moonlight. When had that happened? Harry swore he had only been standing here for a couple of minutes.

A slight cough drug his attention to the man leaning on one of the old, unused desks that were pushed along the back wall of the room. The sparkling purple robes, the long white beard, and the tall hat covered with silver stars told Harry exactly who this man was although he had never seen him before: Albus Dumbledore. Harry tilted his head. Or the muggle version of Merlin. One of the two. Dumbledore made more sense, though, if only slightly. But this was Hogwarts, and Harry had learned that he should always expect the unexpected when it came to the wizarding community.

“Professor Dumbledore, I presume?”

The man’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Why, yes. Who else were you expecting?”

Harry shrugged. “No one really, but um… when-when did you get here?”

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles. “I could ask you the same question. I do believe that it is three hours past curfew, after all.”

Harry winced. Just his luck to be caught out of bed by the headmaster of all people. “I’m sorry, sir. The time just got away from me… I swear it won’t happen again.”

“I suppose I can’t blame you for seeking out the mirror,” Dumbledore said lightly, “Lesser men have fallen prey to it.”

Harry tensed at the sentence. Something about the wording, or maybe it was the tone, didn’t sit right with him. Harry rolled his shoulders. He was just being paranoid. It was nothing.

“Why is the mirror here?” Harry asked, trying to distract himself, “Why this empty room? Is it meant for a class or… presentation or something?”

“The mirror was never meant to stay here very long. In fact, it is moving to its new home tomorrow,” Dumbledore said vaguely.

Harry frowned. Well, that was incredibly vague. The urge to know if him and Malfoy had been right crept into his mind. “This mirror,” Harry began carefully, “It shows what you want most. Doesn’t it?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore exclaimed, a smile stealing across his face, “ I see you’ve figured out the true purpose of the mirror. Impressive.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It wasn’t that hard. I mean, the quote explains it all and once you figure that out you basically know everything.”

“Quote?”

“Yeah, the inscription at the top.” Harry nodded towards the top of the mirror. “It’s english, but it’s written backwards. It explains everything.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”

Harry flinched. Now, he knew why Malfoy had protested so harshly. He knew it made no sense, but it--it didn’t feel right. A person’s house was their identity, and for some to say they were someone else… it wasn’t right. Even for Harry, who was trying to convince himself he belonged in Gryffindor.

“Not really,” Harry said harshly. More harshly than he meant to. Quickly, he tried to amend it by saying evenly, “I had help.”

“Ah, yes, the young Ms Granger is very intelligent for her age,” Dumbledore said sagely.

“Sure,” Harry drew out the word awkwardly. Obviously, Dumbledore hadn’t been here that long. Harry’s secret… alliance? agreement? partnership? was still a secret.

“I hope I don’t sound too impertinent,” the headmaster said gently, “But what do you see in the mirror?”

Harry stiffened and glared at Dumbledore. “That’s a really private question, professor.”

“Surely you’re willing to humour an old man like me, though,” Dumbledore said with grandfatherly smile.

Warily, Harry answered, “I see my family.”

The headmaster’s expression if only slightly. “Yes, many people see their family. Although, you have more reason than most.” Dumbledore’s eyes grew cloudy with remembrance. “It truly is terrible to lose a family, especially ones as caring and giving… as your parents.”

“Did you know my parents, Professor?” Harry asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Yes. We were quite close before their demise. But that is a story for another time.

Harry struggled to pull in the questions that was on the tip of his tongue. How dare he tell Harry that he knew his parents, and then in the same breath, say he’s not going to tell Harry anything about them. Unfortunately, Harry was in no position to make demands. Not if he wanted to stay on the old man’s good side. So, instead, Harry closed his mouth and hid his frustration under a mask of innocent.

“This mirror is a dangerous thing,” Dumbledore continue, “Men have wasted away in front of this mirror, staring at what they wanted most. Others have gone insane wondering if what they saw was possible. But all who have owned this mirror have met a terrible fate.”

 _Then why is it here?_ Harry couldn’t help but think.

“And that is why,” Dumbledore said gravely, “The mirror of Erised is moving to its new home tonight. It shall not be here tomorrow.”

“What?!” Harry cried, “But Professor, you--you _can’t_!”

He-he couldn’t _do_ this! This was the only time he could see his parents. He didn’t have pictures, videos, or even family friends to tell him about his parents--but he did have his mirror. Dumbledore couldn’t just take that away from him. It wasn’t _fair_!

Dumbledore’s eyes hardened. “I can and I _will_. The mirror will have been moved by tomorrow,” his tone suddenly changed, becoming softer, more comforting, but Harry didn’t let it sway him, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, my boy. This is for your own good.”

Harry fought back a snarl. He _hated_ when people made decisions for him and for some reason, everyone in the wizarding world seemed to think they could do just that. He got enough of that at the Dursleys.

A flicker of movement in the mirror caught his attention. His mum was hovering over his doppelganger, carding a hand through his hair comfortingly, while his father gently held his hand, letting Harry know he was there.

Harry slumped. As much as he hated to admit it, he had become slightly… obsessed. With everything. The mirror. His family. Knowledge. For three days, that had been all he thought about. His friends noticed it. Even Malfoy had noticed it. The mirror was affecting him more than he realized. Maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore was right.

“I guess it’s for the best…” Harry eventually grumbled.

“That it is, my boy. That it is,” Dumbledore agreed, his face becoming weary, “Only pain can come from looking at something you know you can never get back.”

Harry glanced at the loving family in the mirror. Yeah, he was beginning to understand that. He could imagine far too well what his future would hold if he continued to visit the mirror. Minutes would turn to hours and hours would turn to days as he sank deeper into the mirror’s snare. The need to see his family would change, morphing into something dark, something dangerous. An obsession would take hold; the need to know everything about his family would grow into the need to _know them_. Things would only escalate from there. He’d lose everything, gain nothing. He’d descend into madness trying to do the impossible. By the end he would have either killed himself in order to finally see his family again or he would have committed a very crime against nature.

“Yes,” Harry said, hating how his voice shook at the end, “No good could come from wanting something that you can’t have.”

Dumbledore glanced at Harry curiously, a gleam in his eyes before he glanced at his watch and winced. “It is long past time we went to bed. Go back to your dorm room and rest.” A small smile appeared on the old man’s face. “And try not to let this little adventure affect your school work tomorrow, or rather, today.”

Harry nodded sleepily, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. He shifted his weight gingerly, wincing when he felt pins travel down his left leg to his foot. He rolled his ankle carefully, trying to ease the pain before rolling his eyes and stepping on it. He had felt much worse before; he was getting soft if his foot being asleep affected him like this.

Harry turned to follow the headmaster to the door but paused.

“Professor,” he called somewhat hesitantly before his resolve hardened, “What do you see in the mirror?”

A strange sad smile flickered across Dumbledore’s face. “Why I, I see myself receiving a nice pair of woollen socks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know some of you are going to be really frustrated with the house choice, but I'll have you know that I wrote three versions of this chapter. A Slytherin Harry, a Gryffindor Harry, and a Ravenclaw Harry. I really tried with all of them but eventually either I didn't like the direction it was going or it just fell apart (Sorry Ravenclaw supporters but I have no idea how to write a Ravenclaw Harry. I tried, I really did but... it just fell apart). So basically I wrote three chapters, and I picked the best one. I settled for a darkish (meant to be Slytherin) Gryffindor Harry. This way he can be friends with everyone. I couldn't really figure that out if he was a Slytherin......
> 
> Anyway, how did you like the mirror scene? I was really looking forward to writing that and I think it turned out pretty good. Oh, and don't go through the whole spiel about how to kids wouldn't be able to figure out the inscription at the top. I did when I first read the book was like nine. So it it possible. Plus Harry is not going to be as.... let's just say naive as in the series. That's the nicest way to put it. Any questions, comments, concerns write to me down below. I'll do my very best to answer you. Thanks for reading!


	9. Who is in Control?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody is an emotional mess. Seriously. Everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi? Sorry for the late update? Hopefully this SUPER FREAKING LONG CHAPTER makes up for it. Seriously, this is the longest chapter I've ever written, and it doesn't help that this is the most emotional chapter I've written. It was exhausting, especially for a person who tries to avoid feelings at all cost. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. A lot goes on but I think I made it work. Warning though, there is more cussing than i usually write (bc I am the type of person who deals with her emotions by screaming profanities at other people so I automatically assume everyone else does as well) and there's some violence (you can't have nonviolent torture) so if that's not your thing you might want to skim read this chapter. Enjoy!

Morgana nervously waited in the moonlit forest for her sister. She was completely still except for the constant wringing of her hands. An owl hooted loudly, causing her to jump and yank her hands apart, defensive spells surging to her lips. It took her a moment to process what had caused the noise, and when she did, Morgana blushed and felt foolish. The witch had only spent a fortnight in Camelot and already she was paranoid. She was stronger than that, _better_ than that. Morgause claimed that she was the most powerful witch she had ever come across, and here she was jumping at even the slightest of sounds like a frightened child.

Morgana huffed to herself and flicked her hair behind her shoulder, wincing slightly when she moved her hand. She glared at the back of her hand, trying to figure out what was wrong with it as the pain dulled from a sharp, stinging pain to a simple ache.

“You've hurt yourself, sister,” Morgause said softly as she appeared suddenly from the surrounding darkness. Morgana tried to hide her flinch at the sudden movement but the high priestess’ eyes were sharp enough that they caught the aborted movement.

With a murmured word, a small orb of light appeared in the palm of the sorceress’ hand. The soft light made the thin line of red on the back of her sister’s hand apparent.

Morgause tutted quietly as she gently wiped the blood away. “You should really take better care of yourself, dear.”

“It's not my fault that I'm so anxious,” Morgana said defensively, “Things have been rather… tense due to Uther’s decline in health.”

Morgause’s eyes lit up. “So the mandrake root has worked then?”

“Yes, the citizens of Camelot believe the King has finally gone mad!” Morgana exclaimed, unable to keep the glee from her voice.

“And what of the knights?”

“Split between father and son,” Morgana lifted her head slightly, a proud smirk dancing on her lips. “Some say they should follow Uther since he is the reigning king and others claim they should follow Arthur since Uther has clearly gone insane.”

A malicious smile spread across the high priestess’ face, and Morgana marveled at seeing it. Her sister rarely smiled, and even if this smile had a sharp edge to it, it was still a sight to see.

“So Camelot is divided. This might be easier than we thought,” her sister said pensively, drawing Morgana from her thoughts. Morgana’s smile faltered before disappearing completely.

“And what exactly is happening, sister?” The witch asked stiffly. “You still haven’t told me who this supposed ally is. I _barely_ got you to explain the purpose of the mandrake root!”

Morgause looked down at her sister condescendingly. “It is for your own protection, dear. This way you can safely say you don’t know anything about the attack.”

“I would rather be prepared for battle and lying about it than to be telling the truth and unprepared for war,” Morgana snapped.

“Then you’re a fool,” the high priestess sneered, “Uther is _far_ more dangerous than some silly war.”

“I’ve lived this long!”

“You’ve been lucky!”

Fury flashed in Morgana’s eyes. “Lucky? _Lucky?_ Every time I enter the Citadel, I’m terrified! I’ve been living in fear for years now! I don’t have anyone I can trust anymore because I’m terrified they will betray me. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder and watching the knights, trying to figure out if they’re meant to be guarding me or if they’ve been sent to arrest me. I’m constantly paranoid. I’m constantly scared for my life. _And you tell me I’m lucky?!_ ”

“You’ve only known about your magic for--what? Two, three years? Most practitioners have been struggling to hide their magic for the majority of their lives! Do you have any idea how self-centered you sound?”

Morgana flinched back, a flush of heat swirling beneath her skin; although she wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or humiliation. People always assumed she was a self-centered little twat simply because she was the king’s ward. Morgana had come to expect it from strangers, but she never thought her _sister_ would one day claim she was being selfish. She wasn’t being selfish for simply wanting to know Morgause’s plans. Was she?

“… _Complaining_ about how you’ve been scared for your life while you’re living in your ivory tower….”

It wasn’t an ivory tower; it was her jail cell. Didn’t her sister realize that? If Uther ever found out… Morgana shuddered. But, it wasn’t like she was the _only_ magic user scared for her life. And most others lived terrible lives. A constant nomadic life. Always running from village to village, begging for work, never getting it, resorting to magic, and getting _killed_ for it. Maybe Morgause was right. After all, she did practically live in the lap of luxury. Sure, she couldn’t trust anyone, but that was normal for magic users. Right?

“…Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working? I have gathered supporters of our cause, fellow witches and wizards, and enemies of Uther to fight beside us! And what are the thanks I get? A sniveling royal scared of her own shadow, claiming that I should be doing _more_ . _More_ for magic users, _more_ for the kingdom, _more for my own sister_ ! I am doing all that I can, yet you still expect _more from me_ …”

Morgana’s eyes began to burn as well as her face. She wasn’t… She didn’t… She loved Morgause; Morgana thought the world of her. Surely, Morgause didn’t think she was that selfish, that she would simply use and abuse her sister until there was nothing left? Morgana’s breathing picked up. _Oh, oh, goddess, what if she did?_ Morgana thought in horror. All she had done for the past few of her sister’s visits was badger her for information about her plans and books so she could further research a way to bring Hadrian back. Maybe Morgause took that as a sign that she should be doing more, even though Morgana knew she was doing the best that she could. Her sister was working herself into the ground, and _it was her fault. She was a terrible sister._

“…I _told_ you this was the safest way! Not only for you but for the many other magic users I’m trying to help! This amount of secrecy protects everyone! If you can’t accept that maybe we should rethink your part in the siege.”

Morgana flinched back as if she had been struck. She couldn’t-- she couldn’t breathe. She was burning, burning, burning. Her body, her face, her eyes, all burning, all aching. She felt as if she had been cut to the core. All she had wanted to do was help her fellow magic users, to save them from prosecution. Surely, her sister wasn’t serious, but… it seemed like Morgana had broken her last straw. Her sister was probably deadly serious in rethinking her part in the siege.

Morgana blinked frantically. She would not cry; she refused to look any weaker than her sister already believed her to be. She couldn’t give Morgause any more reasons to believe she wasn’t fit to help take down Uther.

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” Morgana whispered, hating how broken she sounded. She tried to shove the emotions down but even she realized that it didn’t work, and instead, her emotions seemed to bubble and churn with every word she said. “I didn’t realize how my actions affected the people around me or that they affected so many people. It won’t happen again.”

Morgause straightened her shoulders in an attempt to reign in her own frustration and anger, her chainmail clinking quietly, before saying coolly, “See that it doesn’t.”

Morgana flinched and bowed her head slightly. She would be better. She would. Morgana wouldn’t be weak and self-centered and _pathetic_ . She would be strong and considerate, a sister Morgause _deserved_ , a _leader_ her people deserved.

The high priestess took a deep breath, standing straight, her head held high. Effortlessly regal. “In three days time,” she began, “We will attack the citadel.”

Morgana’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Three days?”

“Yes,” Morgause said, nodding, “An army shall attack the citadel’s northern borders late at night. When the knights focus their attention on those gates another army shall attack from the south.”

“But, sister,” Morgana said hesitantly, “Nobody has ever breached Camelot’s walls. Even if the knights are not prepared for the attack, the castle will still hold strong, at least until more knights are sent in that direction.”

“That is where you come in.”

Morgana’s eyes lit up. “Really? I can help?”

“Yes, sister,” Morgause said with a smile, “In fact, this entire battle will hinge on you.”

Morgana’s smile lit up the forest. “What will I be doing?”

“You will defeat Camelot from the inside out,” Morgause stated softly, her hands reaching up to cup her sister’s face. Morgana leant into her sister’s touch, basking in the sudden, unexpected comfort. If she pulled this off, if she helped overthrow Uther, maybe Morgause would forgive her selfish actions. Already, her sister seemed as if she was on the path to forgiveness. Maybe--

A snap of a twig ruined the moment the two sisters were having. Morgause’s hand shot out, curled as if she was strangling an invisible person and her eyes flashed a dangerous gold. Morgana mourned the loss of the comforting presence of her sister, but her eyes hardened when she heard a surprised squeak from behind the bushes. The high priestess flicked her hand, sending a figure sprawling into the clearing. Morgause glided over to where the figure was curled up and drew her sword. “Who are you?”

A familiar groan escaped the figure, causing Morgana’s eyes to widen. “Merlin?!”

Morgause head snapped towards her. “You were followed!”

“But--but I was careful!” the witch stuttered, “I made sure nobody was following me. I used every spell you taught me; I shouldn’t have been followed!”

“Well, obviously you _were_ followed!”

Morgana shrank back. She couldn’t do anything right today.

Morgause turned back to Merlin, her sword pressing into the soft skin of his neck. “What did you hear?”

“Oh, I've heard all sorts of things tonight,” Merlin tried to feign lightheartedness but Morgana saw how he nervously eyed her sister’s blade.

“Like?” Morgause prompted.

“Like, um…” Merlin stuttered nervously before replying in a bright tone that sounded forced to Morgana’s trained ears, “Did you know that one of the kitchen staff is sleeping with a stable hand? Evidently a servant walked in on them….. you know….in the stables!”

“Wait, are you talking about Martha and Gellert?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Morgause’s head snapped back towards her, a fierce glare predominate on her face, and the witch couldn't help but wince. Merlin, on the other hand, beamed at her in relief.

“Yeah, you know them? Or have you been listening to the kitchen gossip as well?”

Morgana sniffed haughtily, falling back into old patterns even with her sister glaring at her. “Royalty _never_ listens to kitchen gossip.”

“No, instead they're simply omniscient and know absolutely everything of importance with a wave of your hand. Am I right?” The words were meant jokingly but they were said too softly for there to be any bite to the words. Morgana nervously shifted back on her heels unsure of what to think of the gentle look on Merlin’s face. She tried to equate the sad, hopeful man lying helplessly at her feet with the cold blooded assassin she had come to know.

She wasn’t sure she was able to.

“How dare you speak to your betters in such a way!” Morgause exploded. Morgana stumbled back, surprised by the sudden ferocity. “You are nothing! Not even worth the air you breathe! I should kill you now for even daring to look at my sister,” she threatened, the sword in her hand pressing heavily against his pale skin when suddenly it gave way leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Morgana’s eyes widened, and she stepped forward. “Sister!”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Don’t-don’t kill him,” the witch stuttered, her eyes never straying from the blade pressed against Merlin’s neck.

“Why should I show restraint after everything he’s done?! Why are _you_ ?! You should be salivating for his death, and yet you stop me. _Why?_ ”

Morgana’s eyes flickered between her sister and her past lover. “H-he might be useful,” she whispered eventually, “He is Arthur’s manservant after all.”

For a long moment, Morgause remained towering over Merlin, her hand stiffly clenching her sword, before finally pulling it back slightly. Enough that it wasn’t digging into his skin any more but not enough that he could move, Morgana noted numbly.

“Perhaps you are right,” the high priestess admitted before saying sharply, “But that does not mean that he should escape punishment.” She drove her blade through the servant’s shoulder.

The ensuing shriek of pain rang in Morgana’s ears, and she found herself stepping forward to help him before she forced herself to remain where she was. This was not the time for old feelings to come rushing back. Morgause was right; Merlin did deserve punishment, in fact he deserved something much harsher than a sword to his shoulder and yet….she couldn't bring herself to entertain the thought. Yes, he had poisoned her, but it wasn't with malicious intent like she once thought. Merlin had done what he thought was best for the kingdom (even if he was so utterly _wrong_ ) and while the mere thought of his betrayal still hurt painfully, it didn't possess the bitterness that it once had.

A loud squelching sound filled the clearing as Morgause pulled the sword from the manservant's shoulder. Merlin grunted in pain, his hand automatically coming up to cover the freely bleeding wound. Morgana was almost impressed by the dark glare he was throwing at her sister.

“Was that necessary?” Merlin growled.

Morgause calmly cleaned the blood off her sword as she stated matter of factly, “You tried to kill my sister.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth for what Morgana was sure was a scathing retort, but Morgause cut him off with a wave of her hand and a flash of her eyes. Merlin shuddered violently before going completely lax.

“What did you do to him?!” Morgana exclaimed as she rushed over to his side, unable to stop herself this time when she saw how still and lifeless her former lover had become.

The high priestess rolled her eyes. “He was annoying me.”

“That doesn’t give you a right to _kill_ him!” Morgana snapped as she checked his pulse.

“Oh, please, the boy’s not dead, he’s merely unconscious.” Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Although, I don’t understand why you would care if he was dead. After all, he did try to poison you.”

Morgana slowly retracted her hand. “I think he can be useful to us. Like I said, he’s Arthur manservant. He knows everything that goes on in that castle, from the royalty to the servants. You’ve already seen proof of that tonight.”

The high priestess carefully evaluated the unconscious servant, humming to herself. “A dalliance between servants is hardly proof but… I suppose he could be useful.” She kicked his leg, causing his head to loll to the left slightly. She smirked. “After an hour or two, I’m sure he’ll spill everything there is to tell.”

Morgana winced minutely. “Maybe,” she said hesitantly, although she was already doubting the sincerity of her words. Merlin was, or well, _had been_ loyal to a fault. Morgana doubted he would turn on Arthur so quickly, if at all.

A voice snorted in the back of her mind and whispered, _He turned on you, didn’t he? Or do you think he’s more loyal to Arthur than he was to_ you _?_

Morgana shook her head, trying to physically dispel the thoughts.

Her sister waved her hand dismissively, causing Morgana to come back to the conversation at hand with a jolt. “Of course, he will. He’s nothing but a servant boy; he’ll crumble under the power of a high priestess. Now,” A smirk appeared on Morgause’s face. “I believe we have a siege to discuss.”

“What about Merlin?” Morgana asked, nervously glancing down at his body as if expecting him to wake suddenly.

“What about him? It’s not as if he can hear us; he’ll be unconscious for hours unless I wake him. And anyway, it’s not like he’s going to be able to warn the castle after he awakens.”

Morgana’s brows furrowed slightly and she looked at her sister in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Her sister stared at her incredulously. “You do realize that there will be a point in time when the servant boy will stop being useful.”

“Of course I do, but I don’t see what this has to do wi--” She cut herself off when she realized what her sister was trying to say. “Oh,” Morgana said softly as she glanced down at the body lying at her feet, “What are you going to do with him?”

“I’ll get rid of him the same way he tried to get rid of you,” Morgause stated smugly, “Poison.”

Morgana flinched, her eyes never leaving Merlin’s body sprawled on the ground. “Sister…”

“I tempted to give him hemlock just for the dramatic irony of it all, but it’s not painful enough for the boy. He needs to suffer for everything he’s done to you,” Morgause continued.

“Sister…”

“Maybe I should give him some Oleander,” she considered, “I’ve seen what that can do to a man; it’s quite painful and can last for hours.”

“Morgause!”

The high priestess turned towards her, confusion on her face. Morgana bit her bottom lip nervously as she glanced down once more towards the body at her feet before breathing out, “Please, don’t kill him.”

“ _What?_ ”

Morgana winced. “Please, don’t make me repeat it.”

Morgause stared at her sister incredulously. “Well, you’re going to have to because I think I’m hearing things!”

“Don’t kill him.”

“ _Why?_ ” The passion drained out of her sister’s voice leaving only pained confusion. “What am I missing? Why don’t you want revenge? After everything he’s done to you, he deserves to die.” Morgause’s eyes narrowed slightly, she stared at her sister consideringly. “What are you not telling me”

Morgana’s eyes widened and she quickly stuttered out, “Nothing, I swear! It's just…. we were friends once. I can't imagine killing him even after everything he's done.”

“But he tried to _kill_ you, sister,” Morgause stressed desperately, “Surely, that destroyed any attachment you had to the boy.”

Morgana shook her head. “You don't understand. We were close. He helped me at times when it would have been safer for him to just ignore me. He kept my secrets.”

“You were…. _close_ ,” the high priestess said slowly before continuing carefully, “Sister, should I be worried about the amount of… familiarity you are showing to this serving boy?”

“No, no,” Morgana quickly denied, “We were just friends. Nothing more.”

“Then you need to get over this mad sense of obligation you seem to have!” Morgause cried before clutching at her sister’s hands, “Morgana, what will happen when we finally take over Camelot and we have to kill Arthur? Will you plead for his life as well?”

“No, of course not. He's a threat to the throne--”

“And _this boy_ is a threat to our throne,” Morgause interrupted, “He is loyal to Arthur in every way. If he lives, there will be no stopping him from telling all of Camelot of our plans.” Morgause brushed a strand of hair out of her sister's face. “And I fear what would become of you if he told. I shudder at the thought of what Uther might do to you.”

Morgana flinched, visions of a pyre and flames dancing to the forefront of her mind.

“You're right, of course you're right,” Morgana muttered to herself.

Morgause smiled sympathetically. “I’m only trying to protect you, sister. This is the only way to do that.”

“But that’s not true,” Morgana whispered before saying desperately, “Couldn’t you just put a spell on him and make him leave or-or-or there has to be something you can do!”

Morgause’s eyes widened when they caught sight of Morgana’s glistening eyes. She quickly pulled her sister into a hug and comfortingly ran her fingers through the younger girl’s hair.

Morgana burrowed deeper into her sister’s embrace before sniffling, “I don’t care what you do to him. He’ll deserve whatever you throw at him… just don’t kill him. Please. I owe him that much.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Morgause argued.

Morgana clutched at her sister tighter. “But it feels like I do.” She gave a watery laugh. “Which makes no sense, I know, he did try to kill me, but… he did so much for me, as well. He-he helped me talk sense into Arthur when he did something stupid and calmed me after my nightmares and was never _scared of me._ Even after he learned I had magic. And-and I _know_ the Merlin lying over there is not the same sweet boy that helped me sneak off to a Druid camp so I could learn to control my magic but… I can’t bear the thought that the only thing being left of that boy is a memory. Please, Morgause, don’t kill him. Promise me you won’t kill him, please.”

Morgause’s fingers stilled in her sister’s hair.

“Please, sister. Please promise me.”

Morgause’s fingers began moving once more.   

“I promise.”

* * *

“Wake up.”

Merlin grunted when something hit him in the ribs. _Foot_ , his mind supplied, _That was a foot._ He scowled, not opening his eyes. “Ow.”

“Oh did that hurt?” Morgause asked in mock sympathy. “Good.”

Merlin chose to ignore the high priestess and focus on pain resonating throughout his body. The pain from his shoulder had been manageable before simply because of the amount of adrenaline pumping through him, but now the pain had came back with a vengeance. The wound was pulsing with pain in time with his heartbeat, and Merlin could only hope that Morgause hadn’t hit any major arteries. Although the wound itself felt like it was on fire, the surrounding skin felt cold which Merlin knew could not mean anything good since it had been fairly warm the last time he was awake. He should not be fighting back shivers.

Merlin winced when he shifted slightly and a twig poked into the tender flesh of his shoulder. The ground was definitely not the best place for him to be; he couldn’t risk the wound getting infected. He had seen what infection had done to some of the knights who had passed through Gaius’ chambers; he knew how fast it killed them. Even with his magic, Merlin doubted he would live long if an infection spread into his blood. He tried to will himself to sit up, but as soon as he moved his head a wave of nausea passed through him and his head started pounding. He settled back down onto the leaves with a low groan.

A strangled yelp escaped from the servant and his eyes flew open when the ground underneath him instantly disappeared and something tightened painfully. The pounding in his head reached new heights, and Merlin could practically feel the blood draining from his face as another wave of nausea passed through him. He tried to curl in around himself, but whatever had tightened around him-- _Chains. Why is it always chains?_ \--snaked around him even tighter, grinding into the bloody wound on his shoulder and digging into his stomach. Merlin gagged but whether it was due to the ever increasing nausea or pain, he wasn’t sure.

Fingers threaded through his hair in a caressing manner before his head was yanked up violently. Morgause stared down at him imperially, her armor glinting in the sunlight.

 _Wait-- sunlight?_ Merlin thought in confusion. Sunlight meant day. Day meant work. Work that he _had_ to be at. Abduction was not a reasonable excuse to be absent, he knew from experience. _Arthur is gonna kill me,_ he mourned silently before adding seriously, glancing up at the high priestess standing in front of him, _If she doesn’t._

“Why is it, Merlin,” Morgause asked softly as she comfortingly ran her fingers through his hair, “That we always seem to be meeting-” Her fingers stilled in his hair, and she clutched the strands tightly in her fist. “At the wrong place--” She wrenched his head further back so that he was forced to look directly into her eyes. “And the wrong time?”

“I always have been an unlucky person,” Merlin mumbled, focusing more on his roiling stomach than the sorceress in front of him. “And if you keep shaking me, I’m going to vomit all over your boots.”

Morgause sneered in disgust and thrust him away. “Why Morgana decided to befriend you I shall never know.”

“I have my moments.”

Morgause hummed. “And was poisoning Morgana one of your moments?”

Merlin stiffened, and he glared at the high priestess. “I had no choice. It was her or the kingdom, and I couldn’t let Camelot fall.”

“I just don’t understand you, Merlin,” Morgause sighed, kneeling down beside him, “The king’s ward herself decides to take you under her wing, befriend you, despite your lower status, yet you decide to stab her in the back for what? Recognition? A higher status? Why is it that you continue to risk everything to protect a tyrant and his throne?”

“I would not poison Morgana for a _reward_!” Merlin spat out the word. “Nothing that I do is for Uther! It is for Arthur and the just and fair kingdom I believe he will create!”

Morgause rocked back on her heels, watching him in contemplation. “So everything you do, every choice you make, every person you kill… is in the name of _Arthur_?”

“Yes!” Merlin snapped before fully registering the sorceress’ words and stuttering, “Wait--no--maybe--I don’t _kill people_!”

“But you tried to kill Morgana.”

“I _had_ to--”

“For _Arthur._ ”

“For _Camelot_ ,” Merlin corrected.

Morgause stood suddenly and walked over to where her sword was impaled in the ground. “Well, if you’re so close to _Arthur_ ,” She pulled the blade out of the dirt and twirled it expertly in her hand before spinning to press it lightly to his throat. “Then you must know _all about him._ ”

Merlin forced himself not to gulp.

Morgause smiled anyway.

“I will not betray my king,” Merlin replied steadily. He began to mentally prepare himself for the pain that was sure to come.

Morgause’s smile turned shark-like. “As far as I know, Uther isn’t dead yet, and the boy is still a prince, but I suppose it’s the sentiment that counts,” She mocked before bending down and whispering in his ear, the soft puffs of air causing the hairs on the back to stand, “By the end of the night, all of that _loyalty_ that you seem to care so much about will be decimated to the point that you’ll be _begging_ me for a chance to hurt Arthur just so I will stop hurting _you._ ”

Merlin gulped.

“Now, is there anything you wish to tell me about the young prince or are you going to be stubborn?”

Merlin gave an uneasy smile. “Stubborn is my middle name. Just ask Morgana.”

“Good. This makes things better for me,” Morgause said lightly before a fist unexpectedly collided with Merlin’s face. Merlin reeled to the side and tried blink away the shock and pain of it all.

“What was that for?! You haven't even asked a question yet!” Merlin yelped, wincing with every movement. She had caught him on the top of his cheekbone, too close to his eye. He wasn't going to be able to hide the shiner from Arthur or anyone, for that matter. Merlin bit back a chuckle. Here he was worried about hiding a bruise when there was a gaping wound in his shoulder. Maybe he had lost too much blood.

Morgause tilted her head and gave him a bright smile causing Merlin to rear back slightly. The innocent, carefree smile didn't coincide with the sword in her hand and her bruising knuckles. “Because I wanted to.”

“So, _Merlin_ ,” Morgause said lightly as she trailed the tip of her sword over the cheek she just hit, “As the prince’s manservant, you must go to all the council meetings. That means you know practically everything about Camelot including,” she flicked her sword sharply, causing a shallow gash to appear over the bruising flesh, “The weak points in its defense.”

“Look,” Merlin replied helplessly, “I don't know anything. I sleep through the meetings. It's one of the things I'm known for actually. So this whole torture thing you have going on here? Is going to be pointless _because I can't tell you anything_.”

“That's where you're wrong, Merlin. Even if you truly don't know anything about Camelot, torturing you will be worthwhile. Do you know why?” Morgause didn't even pause to let him answer. “Because you poisoned one of my own.”

Morgause flung her arm out towards him and growled, “Træglian!”

A horrible scream ripped out of Merlin’s throat. It felt as if something had forced its way into the stab wound and was physically pulling the muscles away from the bone. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, unwilling to look at how the wound slowly was slowly being pulled open, revealing the glistening bones underneath. Blood poured from the wound and soaked into his shirt, turning it from blue to a deep magenta in seconds. After what seemed like an eternity, the high priestess dispelled the curse with a flick of her hand. “Now,” her voice was as sharp as her sword, “Tell me about Camelot’s weaknesses.”

“I don’t know anything,” Merlin gasped out desperately. He blinked back the unexpected tears that had formed. He refused to cry in front of her. He refused to show any kind of weakness in front of her. “You torturing me isn’t going to change that!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Morgause knelt down beside him again and ran a finger over the shallow cut on his cheek, smearing the blood. “We’ll just have to see.”

“What’s it even matter?” Merlin spat out angrily, “You’re going to torture me either way. Might as well just keep my mouth shut. At least that way I’m not a traitor.”

“But if you told me the truth,” the high priestess breathed out, “You’d know you did everything you could to stop me from doing this.”

Morgause thrust two fingers into his shoulder wound. Merlin choked on the very air he was desperately trying to inhale. She wiggled her fingers experimentally, causing the servant to feel so incredibly light-headed. He could feel the witch’s fingers _moving inside of him_ . It was beyond disconcerting and so, so, so _invasive_ . It made him want to vomit. At least with the spell she had cast on him, the pain had been constant, consistent. Every muscle had been affected at the same time, with the same amount of pressure, causing the same amount of pain. With this, the pain was inconsistent, always fluctuating, and so entirely _human_ in a way that magic could never be. It made it worse.

A grin stole across Morgause’s face. “I can feel your bones,” she said in fascination, “They’re slick. Can you feel what I’m doing?”

Merlin flinched, causing the witch to gasp. He knew logically that he didn’t have any nerves in his bones, but he _swore_ he could feel her stroking his clavicle as she would a cat.

“Do that again!” She demanded excitedly, “I felt that! Do that again!”

Merlin’s lips curled up into a sneer. “ _Fuck. You._ ”

A dangerous expression replaced the morbid excitement from seconds earlier. Looking him dead in the eyes, the high priestess proceeded to add another two fingers to the wound and _curled_ them upwards until she was clutching his collarbone, and her nails were digging into his muscles. Blood bubbled out of the wound and ran down her arm. Merlin was unable to stop himself from gagging and shuddering.

Morgause smirked. “How does it feel? To know that a stranger is holding one of the most intimate parts of your body, something that has never been touched before, _should_ never be touched. You can’t even _move_ .” Her smirk was so blood thirsty, so deadly. “Well, I suppose you could try. But this bone isn’t going anywhere. I wonder how it would break. Would it snap in half? Or would it be wrenched out of place and _then_ snapped?”

Merlin jerked to the side and vomited the meager amount of food that was still in his stomach from the day before. He heaved even more when he felt how the bone moved within him, wanting to remain in the same place where Morgause was clutching it.

She giggled. “Well, would you look at that! The little servant boy moved! Could you feel your bones moving unnaturally inside you? Grinding against each other in ways that shouldn’t be possible? Did you feel how your bone _strained_ against the movement? Because I did.”

The high priestess smirked cruelly. “I should lead you around like this. What do you think people would say if you walked into Camelot like this?  Trotting after the heels of a sorceress like the good little dog that you are, chasing after a bone.”

She giggled at her own joke before asking, “What do you think Arthur would say when he saw a witch with her hand curled around your _heart_ ?” Morgause leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “I bet they would burn you with me. Build a pyre right beside mine and light it on fire. You’d probably scream out to Arthur, wouldn’t you? Beg for his help, beg for him to _save you_ .” The small, gentle puffs of air that corresponded with each word made the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stand up. “But Arthur, Arthur wouldn’t save you. He’d just _look_ at you with that imperious, disgusted expression on his face because once your _heart_ is touched by magic, you are corrupted. You are _worse_ than any magic user because magic touched your core, your very _soul_ . Arthur would _rejoice_ when you died. Yet another victory against the wickedness of magic!”

Her loud cackle echoed throughout the clearing.

“ _I. Know. Nothing_.” Merlin hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring how his heart pounded at the very possible threat she had uttered, and instead put all of his anger into his words.

Morgause pouted mockingly at the boy at the same time she jerked the bone in her hand forward, as if she was trying to pull it from his body. A yell of pain escaped Merlin, and he pitched forward, trying to escape the pain. She smirked. “Pity.”

She withdrew her fingers from the wound slowly, as if she was trying to prolong the pain. She sneered at the blood dripping off of her hand, holding it away from the rest of her body so she wouldn’t get any blood on her clothes before a speculative look crossed her face. With very deliberate movements, the witch reached up a smeared the blood across his left cheek and lips. “There.” She smiled. “Now you look like you’re blushing.”

Morgause rocked back on her heels to admire her handiwork. She had left the boy a patchwork of reds, purples, and blues that normally she would be rather proud of but… the boy had refused to talk. Any other servant would have crumbled under her administrations and told her everything she wanted to know. Even if they didn’t know anything of importance, normal people would make up something in an attempt to get her to _stop_ . But this servant, this _Merlin_ , simply kept repeating that he didn’t know anything which Morgause knew was a _blatant_ lie. It was impossible to be a servant to a royal and not know anything of importance.

The high priestess glared up at the moving sun. As much as she wanted to stay and teach this boy what happens when somebody hurts her sister, she was on a tight schedule. She couldn’t afford to stay here much longer. Huffing, Morgause turned back to the boy, only to falter when she saw the deadly look in his eyes. She reared back before she could stop herself.  Her magic surged throughout her body, warning her, telling her to leave _now_ before it was too late.

Deeply disturbed by the sensation, Morgause clambered to her feet shakily. “I guess we’ll just have to skip ahead to the finale then.” She tried to ignore how breathless her voice sounded, as she attempted to reign in the bizarre terror this servant boy had invoked in her. The boy was chained up, completely at her mercy; she didn’t understand how any aspect of the boy could make her magic this uncontrollably afraid and wanting to lash out.  

 Giving into the need, the high priestess allowed her eyes to burn gold, causing the chains to tighten around Merlin to the point that he could barely move. A deep groan vibrated in his chest, and the nausea he had been feeling since he woke up, surged back with a vengeance even though he knew there was nothing left in his stomach.

“What’s the finale?” He eventually groaned once he was positive that his stomach wasn’t going to make a guest appearance in this scene.

“Trust me, honey, you’re going to love it.”

Merlin did not like the almost giddy expression on her face. He licked his lips. “I sincerely doubt that.”

She shrugged, her previously giddy expression becoming indifferent. “You might not.” She flashed him an arrogant smirk. “But I will.”

And without another word, the high priestess turned on her heels and stalked off into the forest, her armor glinting in the sunlight. Merlin stared after her, worry churning in his gut, but maybe that was just the uncontrollable nausea.

“That… was overly dramatic,” he said in an attempt to ease the tension running through him, but the words feel flat and he couldn’t help shout after Morgause even though she had already disappeared into the underbrush, “Hey, are you just going to leave me here?”

The forest remained silent.

“I have places to be!” he tried again.

Still no answer.

“… Fuck.”

He glared at the surrounding trees. The forest was eerily quiet, and goosebumps began to form on his arms and the back of his neck. Something was not right here.

Merlin turned his attention back to the chains surrounding him; he _needed_ to get out of here before whatever Morgause expected to happen actually occurred. His eyes glowing gold, he hissed, “Áberstan!”

A yell of pain escaped from him when the chains grew even tighter, one of the links almost half inserted into the wound in his shoulder. He forced himself to look away from the gruesome sight but he wondered absentmindedly if the lightheadedness he was suffering was due to the sight of the metal digging into his flesh or the blood loss he must be suffering from.

“Really?!” He shouted into the forest, finally letting some of his anger out now that he knew everyone was gone, “You wrapped me up in _magic chains_?! You couldn’t have just chained me up in some normal chains that you could have gotten from a blacksmith for twenty coins? Where the hell did you even get these?!”

When Merlin received no answer, he sighed, even though he had been expecting it. He grumbled to himself, “I guess I know where Morgana gets her fascination with chains from.”

The thought of Morgan made him wince. Morgana was a… complicated topic. All of his thoughts about her were jumbled and unordered, and it was driving him absolutely mad. Every time Merlin thought he had her figured out she did something to dispute everything he once thought was true. Morgana just _kept_ surprising him. She always had, of course, but now the stakes were higher than being kicked out of their bed for the night. Now, the entire kingdom was in danger because she kept surprising him.

Merlin didn’t know what to think Morgana anymore. Oh, he still loved her, loved her dearly and would probably always love her, but… he didn’t know whose side she was on anymore, and as much as he hated to admit it, that was what counted nowadays. Merlin snorted to himself. Who would have thought that one day he would choose politics over love? Certainly not him.

 _But then again, all of this was my own damn fault anyways,_ Merlin thought to himself with a scowl on his face. He should have never given her that damn waterskin. Maybe then none of this would have happened. Just _once_ he should have picked love over everything else, _just once_ ! He had known the moment she drank from the waterskin that he had made a terrible mistake, but he hadn’t realized how _bad_ of a mistake he had made until Morgana had made her grand return to Camelot this year.

Goddess, just thinking of that day made him want to vomit. He could remember in horrifying clarity the sheer terror and pain in her eyes. Morgana rarely bared her emotions for the world to see, but she _never_ allowed anyone to see fear in her eyes, _never_ . Merlin had automatically stepped forward, wanting to help her, to _comfort_ her. Except she flinched away. And that’s when it all came crashing down around him, and Merlin realized that _he_ was the cause of the terror in her eyes, that he was the reason her mask was cracked beyond repair, baring her pain for the world to see. He didn’t think he’d ever feel as disgusted with himself as he had then.

He had tried to make things right, to explain everything, (not _everything_ , a voice commented snidely in his head, but he shoved it down) but he had to go and fuck that up as well. It didn’t help that the voice in the back of his head that he always tried _so hard_  to ignore kept insisting that something was different with Morgana, that something was _wrong_. And then Merling found Morgana replacing the mandrake root under Uther’s bed. He hated when the voice was right.

Merlin didn’t really remember what happened after that, but he knew he hadn’t reacted well. Not at all. In fact, he had lost a considerable amount of time that night. All he knew was that one moment he was watching Morgana replace that godforsaken root and then the next he was at the top of the West Tower several hours later.

He did remember what had happened afterwards.

He pored over every memory he had of Morgana, every conversation they had had, every action she had done, in an attempt to figure out _what the fuck had happened._

It once disgustingly simple to piece together once he tried.

Morgana was scared, so very, very scared. She had always been good at hiding it, but he should have known to look deeper, and not take everything at face value with Morgana. She was surrounded by people who despised magic, and living at the very center of an empire dedicated to its destruction. She must have been terrified every time Uther demanded to see her, every time a knight followed her a step to close, every time Arthur looked at her oddly. That kind of constant fear is enough to break anyone-- he should know.

On top of it all, Morgana was lonely. She was used to a support system that Merlin could only dream of. She was used to talking out her problems with her friends and family, but that wasn’t possible when her family was the one leading the charge against magic. Merlin had thought he was enough, but he should have known better. He would never be enough, _could_ never be enough. Not while he was lying about his own magic.

Maybe things would have been different if he had told her everything. Scratch that, things _would_ have been better if Merlin had told her everything. Morgana wouldn’t have felt so scared. She wouldn’t have thought she was alone. She would have had someone she could finally connect to. Instead, Merlin decided that he just had to keep continuing the charade, and Morgana turned elsewhere for comfort. Instead, she found Morgause, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The scream that had left his lips when he realized that he was the cause of Morgana’s betrayal was filled with rage and pain. It ripped at his vocal cords and made his eyes water. When he finally ran out of breath, though, he locked all his emotions up. It didn’t matter how much he loved her. It didn’t matter how much he hated himself for pushing her away, for pushing her to _this_. All that mattered was the fact that she was going to destroy Camelot, and probably kill everyone else he cared about. He couldn’t let Arthur, Gwen, and Gaius die (Which he knew would happen. Arthur was a threat to the throne. Gwen was his weak spot. Gaius was a staunch supporter of the royal family. It would be stupid to let them live, and Morgana was never, ever stupid.). Not for his own mistakes.

He had steeled himself against Morgana that day, forced himself to think and act as if she was the enemy. Merlin had followed her out here tonight expecting the worse. Instead, Morgana surprised him. _Again_.

The… argument between the two sisters had not been expected. He had thought the two were in total agreement about everything, but evidently not. In fact, Morgana seemed rather angry with Morgause.

Merlin seethed silently. Morgause. If there was anyone who he’d be willing to kill, it would be her. The way she had _treated_ Morgana made his blood burn. Merlin clenched his jaw. Under normal circumstances, Morgana would have verbally (and maybe even physically; it wouldn’t have been the first time Merlin had witnessed such a thing.) destroyed the high priestess. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Instead, Merlin watched helplessly as Morgause reduced Morgana to tears with a few well-placed words.

If that wasn’t enough to convince Merlin that maybe Morgana wasn’t as willing a participant as she seemed to be, her asking the high priestess to spare his life certainly was.Maybe he still had a chance. If he showed Morgana how that witch was manipulating her, if he told her the truth, if he---

The leaves rustled to the left of him. Merlin whipped his head around. “Hello?” He called out tensely, “Is anyone there?”

Any hope he may have been harboring was crushed when he saw what looked to be a black scorpion the size of a dog appear from the bushes. His eyes widened and he breathed out, “Double fuck.”

He knew what happened to victims of the serket’s sting. Only one such victim had passed through Gaius’ doors, but that was enough for him to realize he should never, under any circumstances, come into contact with a serket.

Everything had been normal when the man had first been brought in. Gaius had been barking orders, hastily undressing the knight, but as soon as he had seen the wound, the physician had froze before simply covering the man with a blanket and shaking his head. Merlin had been furious, demanding to know why his mentor wasn’t even _trying_ to save the poor knight. He didn’t believe Gaius when he explained that there was no cure for a serket sting. Merlin _did_ believe him twelve hours later when the knight was drowning from fluid in his lungs and begging for someone to kill him in order to make the pain _stop_. The man didn’t make it through the night.

Merlin looked down wildly at the chains wrapped around him. It was nearly impossible for him to move, let alone _run_ ; the chains were much too tight. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. “Áberstan!”

He groaned in pain when the chains tightened yet again. He glanced up, forcing himself to ignore his bloody shoulder wound, only to realize in horror that many more serkets were making their way out of the bushes, completely surrounding him. A hissing sound erupted in front of him and Merlin whipped around to see a serket not two feet in front of him.

“Áwierpe!” Merlin cried in panic, his eyes flaring gold again. The serket flew backwards, colliding with a tree.  A touch of a smile formed on his lips. Maybe he could do this. If he just kept throwing them back--

An ear shattering roar erupted from Merlin as a fiery rope of pain ripped across his back. His magic reacted instinctively, casting all of the serkets out of the clearing at once and leaving Merlin alone in his pain.

Shakes racked his frame as Merlin clenched his eyes closed and tried to get a handle on the fiery pain that was unlike anything he had ever felt.

Something rustled to the side of him.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Merlin spat out, “You’ve already stung me once; what more can you do?”

Merlin glared at the black serkets starting to surround him once more. He ignored how his eyesight was blurring or how he couldn’t stop his own limbs from shaking and instead, sent all the magic he could summon at the serkets. A flood of blue-white magic burst from him, creating a fairly large shield that completely surrounded him. The serkets shrieked and screamed, but every time they touched the barrier, Merlin heard the sizzling of burnt flesh.

Merlin smiled shakily, before muttering to himself, “Never done that before.”

His back muscles spasmed, causing him to groan and pitch forward slightly. Merlin panted heavily, trying to push down the nausea that was making itself known again now that he was out of immediate danger.

Merlin giggled to himself somewhat hysterically. When had a deadly poison in his bloodstream and an infected wound become anything other than “immediate danger” to him? Probably around the time he met Arthur.

Goddess, his head was pounding. Had there always been so many serkets and had they always been so… blurry? Full body shakes racked the warlock, and Merlin finally lost his balance and fell forward. Whimpering quietly when he landed harshly on his wounded shoulder, he immediately rolled over, momentarily forgetting about the wound on his back. He hissed when the burning skin on his back made contact with the soil underneath him, unsure if it was better or worse than laying on his shoulder. After a moment's consideration, he decided he was too drained to do much of anything right now, much less move his body anymore than he had to.

Merlin gazed up at the sky, his eyes slowly glazing over. With every breath, the pain seemed to increase to the point where he swore he could feel the fiery poison coursing through his blood, searching for his heart. His vision was getting darker with every second, a sure sign that he was close to losing consciousness.

Desperation clawed at him. If Merlin allowed himself to pass out, he knew that tiny sliver of hope he was clutching onto would die with him along with it. He couldn’t die, though, not now! Not when Camelot was in danger and he still had a chance to save Morgana. He couldn’t die. He wouldn’t allow it.

Merlin tilted his head back and roared into the sky.

* * *

Living was painful, and he hated it.

Well, not really. Merlin didn’t _hate_ it, just, _Goddess_ , he hurt all over! Stupid Morgause, stupid serkets, stupid cryptic-assed dragon who only fixed him up enough that the warlock wasn’t _dying_ anymore before shipping him back to save bloody Camelot! Honestly, the hundred year old dragon didn’t even heal the gaping hole in his shoulder before going on a rant about how Merlin should never have trusted “that Goddess forsaken witch whose only goal is to destroy Albion”. Merlin had had to stitch up the wound himself.

It didn’t help that the bloody dragon had kept him unconscious for two days, claiming the warlock needed to heal. Merlin snorted to himself. He could heal _after_ he had made sure Camelot wasn’t in danger of falling to an insane (brilliant) sorceress (tactician), thank you very much. Morgause’s army could arrive any day now, and he wasn’t prepared in the slightest. What was he going to---

Merlin’s internal rant was cut off when something hard and brittle collided with his chest. Hissing, the warlock clutched at his shoulder in an attempt to soothe the muscles underneath, but Merlin could barely feel the soft touch through the bulky bandages hidden underneath his shirt.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I was paying attention to where I was going and -- Merlin are you all right? What happened to your face?”

Merlin gave Gwen a weak smile and forced himself to drop his hand away from his shoulder. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t look like fine to me,” Gwen argued as she gently touched the purple skin on his cheekbone, careful to avoid the gash at the center of the bruise. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” he replied with a brittle smile. “Same old, same old.”

Gwen leveled him with a disapproving glare. “ I sincerely hope you don’t look like you’ve lost a bar fight on a regular basis.”

Merlin laughed nervously. “Right. Of course not. This is definitely just a one time thing.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Merlin forced a laugh again. “See, here’s where it’s funny. I lost a tavern fight.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” she sighed, “You really shouldn't put yourself into these situations. What would happen if somebody hit you just a little too hard? Honestly, Merlin, I don’t like seeing you in the patient bed in Gaius room. Did you at least get him to check you out?”

“Yeah, yeah I did. It wasn’t anything much. Just some bruising to the face and chest; nothing important.”

“ _Nothing important?_ Chest bruising is not nothing import-- chest?” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, are you all right? I hit you rather hard with that basket. Is your chest all right? Did I hurt your bruises?”

“I’m fine, Gwen, I swear!”

“Are you sure? You can never be too careful. You didn’t injure your ribs did you--”

“Gwen, I’m fine--”

“But what if I made your bruises worse, what if--”

“Honestly, Gwen, you’re worrying too much.”

“I am _not_ worrying too much! I have a right to worry with how accident prone you are!”

“I am not accident prone!”

“Yes, you are. Don’t deny it. Now, why don’t we head to Gaius’ and have him check you out again--”

“Basket.”

She paused. “What?”

“Basket.” He nodded towards the floor.

She followed his gaze in confusion, before her eyes widened. “Oh! Basket!”

Gwen dropped to her knees where the forgotten basket of clothing had laid abandoned on the floor. She began to pick up the scattered pieces of clothing as she muttered, “Damn it, I just washed these!”

Merlin’s injuries were forgotten for the moment, and he couldn’t be more thankful. He did _not_ want to visit Gaius again.

Merlin carefully knelt down beside her and helped her put the clothes away. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He grinned. “We both know how often these floors are cleaned.”

“You more so than me, Mr. Klutz,” Gwen replied with a mischievous look in her eyes. “How long again did Cook have you scrubbing the kitchen floors when you broke her favorite mixing bowl?”

“Five hours,” Merlin said sheepishly.

Gwen rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Honestly, Merlin, you need to work on your coordination. I can’t keep hiding Morgana’s necklace that you keep breaking. She’s going to find out eventually. And I’m gonna blame it on you when she does.”

Merlin flinched. “Morgana?”

 Gwen nodded distractedly, not noticing the sudden tension radiating from her friend. “Yes, and she’s very sensitive these days. One wrong word, and she explodes.”

She blushed when her mind finally caught up with her mouth. “I-I didn’t mean that!” Gwen quickly denied. “I’m not complaining; I swear! She’s just dealing with a lot of stress right now. I’m sure she’s just trying to get used to royal life again.”

Merlin gave his friend a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure.”

Gwen stood, finally noticing the tension and unsure of how to disband it. “It’s not just me, is it? I mean, have you noticed anything different about Morgana?”

“Uh, I don’t- I’m not sure,” Merlin stuttered, “I haven’t really seen her since she’s returned.”

Gwen glanced up at him in shock. “Wait, you haven’t visited her yet? Why not? I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Merlin muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Gwen asked in confusion.

Merlin plastered on a fake smile. “Oh, nothing, nothing.” The fakeness fell away and concern filtered into his voice. “Is everything ok between you and Morgana, though? You seem kinda tense.”

“It’s nothing,” Gwen said quietly, her eyes downcast, “It’s just… Morgana keeps giving me all this extra work, and at first, I was more than willing to do anything to help her, but now it just seems like she’s giving me all this work to get rid of me.”

“I’m sure she’s not trying to get rid of you, Gwen!” Merlin immediately tried to comfort her. “She’s probably just stressed… about certain things. Why don’t you ask her for a break? You look like you could use one.”

Which was more than true. There were dark circles under the servant’s eyes, and her normally pristine dress was wrinkled and stained in places. Her hair created a frizzy halo around her face, and her posture was slumped and almost defeated. She looked as if she hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks.

Gwen began to fiddle with her dress. “I know I should, but… I just don’t want to be away from her, you know? It’s like, if I turn my back on her for just a moment, she’ll disappear again. She was gone for so _long_ , Merlin; I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if she disappeared again.” She took a deep breath. “I just want to help her. I want to be there for her because I _know_ she just went through a terrible year, but she won’t _talk_ to me and whenever I try to get her to talk about that year she just pushes me away and sends me on these fool errands, except now she sends me on these stupid errands _all the time,_ it doesn’t _matter_ if I’m trying to get her to talk about what happened, she just sends me away! She won’t let me help, and I’m just… I’m just…”

“Exhausted,” Merlin filled in for her. “You should tell her that. Ask for a day off; I’m sure she’d allow it. And maybe space is what the two of you need. Morgana never was the clingy type; maybe she thinks you’re smothering her.”

“I’m not--”

“I know you’re not smothering her,” Merlin quickly appeased, “But look at it from her perspective. She spent a year with minimal contact with people and they only wanted to hurt her. Now she’s back in Camelot and surrounded by people. It doesn’t matter that we care about her; she still feels suffocated. Especially after such a sudden change.”

Gwen sniffed. “You’re right. I should have realized. I mean, you’re right, Morgana has never been clingy, why would I think she would be now? God, how could I be so stupid? I should have realized--”

“Hey, hey hey!” Merlin cut her off before she could spiral any further. “You’ve had a lot on your mind. We’ve all felt the pressure around here. It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

Gwen slumped. “I know. I just wish everything was like it once was. The four of us used to be so close, ya know? It didn’t matter that we were all from different social standings; we were friends. Now, though, now there’s a distance between all of us, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t fix everything, Gwen.”

“But I can try.”

Merlin snorted. “Trust me, Gwen. Sometimes trying to fix things only makes it worse.”

Gwen paused, her determination turning into concern. “Is everything all right, Merlin? You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin said distractedly, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

If anything, his careless words made her even more concerned. “I mean it, Merlin,” She said seriously, “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you. You can talk to me.”

“I know, Gwen,” he said more serious than he had previously, before a lie passed through his lips, “But everything’s fine. Sure, things are stressful right now, but everything will go back to normal when things calm down.”

 _I sincerely doubt it_ , he finished silently.

Just then a group of knights burst into the corridor, running towards the Great Hall. Merlin quickly grabbed his friend and drug her out of the middle of the hall so she wouldn’t be trampled.

“That doesn’t look like calm,” Gwen mumbled, peaking around his shoulder, her eyes wide at the unexpected sight of the usually calm knights so frazzled.

“No, it doesn’t,” Merlin agreed.

Moments after the knights disappeared, anxious whispers broke out among the servants in the hall, their eyes occasionally darting to where they had last seen the knights. The sharp _click, click, click_ of heels echoed over the den.

“What is going on?”

The two servants turned to see Morgana standing behind them, her pale blue dress clutched in her fist so she could run better and her eyes wide with concern. If Merlin didn’t know about her secret meetings with Morgause, he would think she was sincere.

Morgana’s already fair skin paled even further when she finally realized who was clutching her maid to his chest. “M-Merlin?” Morgana’s eyes widened in confusion and something almost like horror. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Merlin said in a deadpan tone.

Morgana’s smile was brittle around the edges. “Of course, silly.” The slight strain in her voice was obvious to Merlin, but he doubted Gwen heard it. “But I thought you were leaving Camelot for a while. Your mother is sick. Isn’t she?”

Gwen’s head snapped towards him, concern evident on her face. “You’re leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Merlin winced and quickly tried to fix the situation. “No, no! My mother isn’t sick, and I’m not leaving.” Merlin turned to glare at the witch. “Morgana must have gotten her facts wrong.”

Morgana’s mask fractured slightly, but she tried to hide it with a laugh. “I suppose that’s what I get for listening to the kitchen gossip.”

“I thought you didn’t listen to gossip,” Merlin said stiffly.

“Well, you always have been the exception,” She bit out with a fake smile.

Gwen pulled away from Merlin, and tried to break the growing tension between the two by asking, “Milady, do you know what’s going on?”

Relief flickered in Morgana’s eyes, and she was able to piece her mask back together now that the conversation was back to what she had expected. “I’m afraid not, Guinevere. In fact, I was going to ask if _you_ knew…” she trailed off, her eyes drifting Gwen’s waist. Merlin watched her in confusion before following his gaze to where his hand laid forgotten around his friend’s waist. Merlin flushed and pulled his hand away.

Morgana’s face hardened and she drew back slightly, going from friendly to regal in seconds. “Come, Gwen. Let’s go find out what is happening.”

Gwen glanced down at her basket. “But what about your clothes, milady?”

Morgana waved her hand dismissively. “Take them with us. They are no more inappropriate folded than they are on.” She grabbed the servant’s hand. “Now, come.”

Merlin quickly grabbed Gwen’s arm, stopping them from moving any further, and whispered in his friend’s ear, “ _Talk_ to her. She’ll understand if you ask for a break.”

Morgana glared at him fiercely, causing him to drop Gwen’s arm and step back, his hands raised in a clear sign of surrender. Her eyes narrowed before she spun on her heels and strode down the hallway, dragging Gwen along with her.

Merlin sighed and ran his hand through his hair when they disappeared around a corner. He needed to figure out when Morgause’s army was going to arrive.

* * *

“Merlin, I need more gauze!”

Merlin scrambled for bandages, ignoring his bloody hands and the patients around him moaning in agony.

“We won’t last long like this,” he mumbled as he shoved the gauze into Gaius’ waiting hands. The physician didn’t say anything but the grim look stated his opinion on the matter clearer than any words. Merlin nodded anyways and went back to tending his wounded patients.

For the first time since his first year in Camelot, Merlin was worried they might actually lose the citadel. Morgause ( _and Morgana_ , a voice whispered in the back of his head before he stamped it down) had planned the siege well, he grudgingly admitted. The castle was completely surrounded and being attacked from every weak point. Merlin knew they wouldn’t last long, a couple of days, maybe, a week at the most. Unfortunately, he had a feeling there was another step to the plan that would speed up the process.Morgana had been incredibly shifty all night, and Merlin was willing to bet his book on magic that she was going to implement that step.

“Do we have any more clean water?”

Merlin jumped before cursing himself for not paying more attention. He turned to see Gwen standing beside him, slumped forward and clearly exhausted. Her pale yellow dress now splattered with red and pink blood stains.

He quickly nodded and handed her the bucket of water beside him. “Here, take mine. But we’re going to need more soon.”

Gwen nodded in somewhat of a daze as she took the bucket. She glanced at the door before whispering helplessly, “They just _keep coming in_.”

Merlin forced what he hoped was a comforting smile on his face, but refrained from touching her, knowing it would only stain her dress even more. “It’ll slow down. Camelot has never been taken in a siege before, and I doubt it will be taken tonight.”

Gwen straightened slightly, and a determined look appeared on her face which caused Merlin to smile weakly. At least somebody could take comfort in his words, even if he couldn’t.

“And besides,” Merlin added, trying to force himself to sound more confident, “Arthur’s out there, He’ll think of something to stop this.”

The determination on his friend’s face faltered slightly. Merlin winced.

“That… probably wasn’t comforting at all. Was it?”

“No,” Gwen replied stiffly before giving him a small smile. “But thank you for trying.”

If anything, that made Merlin feel worse. “But it really didn’t hel…” The sentence drifted to an end as his eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Morgana?”

Gwen’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sudden change of topic. “I don’t know. She was just here.”

Merlin cursed under his breath before quickly mumbling an excuse to Gwen. He was already running out the door before she could truly decipher what he said, confusion and worry evident on her face if he had bothered to look back.

“Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap,” Merlin said to himself as he skidded into the corridor. Where had she gone? He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment. He glanced around the deserted hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of a skirt fluttering around a corner, but the hall was empty. Desperation fueled the gold in his eyes, and faint, shimmering footprints appeared on the stones. He silently thanked the Goddess that all the knights were outside protecting the wall as he raced after the footprints.

Minutes ticked by as Merlin followed the footprints deep into the bowels of the castle. The air felt damp and heavy in his lungs, and the castle steadily became darker with every step.    

“Why would she come down here?” Merlin whispered to himself before freezing.

A strange scraping sound filled the corridor. Merlin quickly ducked into an alcove, waiting for whatever it was to pass. The strange scraping noise got louder and louder, and Merlin couldn’t help but want to sink deeper into the shadows because of it. A silver blade scraping against the stone floor came into view, followed by the hilt of the sword surrounded by something white that he couldn’t really make out.

 _Is that…?_ Merlin thought to himself before his eyes widened. Two long bones came into view. _Ulna and radius_ , the physician part of his brain supplied while the rest of him reeled away in horror. _Goddess, Morgana, what have you done?_

The sound of the sword scraping on the stones slowly faded away, and Merlin stumbled out of the alcove. At least now he didn’t need magic to find Morgana, he tried to reason with himself. Now he knew she was in the catacombs.

Whispered words slithered there way throughout the halls the closer he got to the tombs, and Merlin could see a faint bluish light coming from the room in front of him. He was running towards the door before he truly registered it.

“Morgana, stop!”

Morgana jumped in shock at the sudden noise. Merlin took her millisecond of surprise to take in the room and the wooden staff embedded into in the floor. He shied away from it immediately. There was a center darkness emitting from it even though there was a glowing blue ball of light floating above it.

He glanced back at Morgana before reeling back when he saw the sheer amount of rage in her eyes before it disappeared behind a cool, superior facade. Merlin swallowed and pushed away his own emotions but he had never been able to hide his emotions as well as Morgana. So he wasn’t able to stop the horror from creeping into his voice when he whispered, “Morgana, what have you _done_?”

She sneered. “I am doing what is necessary! Camelot is being ripped apart at the very seams due to that ruthless _tyrant_ they call king! He kills anyone who has magic; men, women, children--- it doesn’t _matter_! Tell me how that’s fair! Tell me how that is a mark of a _great king_!” Morgana spat out the words as if they personally insulted her before her eyes lightened and she said passionately, “If Uther is dead, magic will be free. People won’t be terrified for lives simply because they were born with magic!”  
“Do you realize the madness that will ensue if the king is killed?” Merlin asked incredulously. “A country without a king is like a chicken without its head! War would break out and many people would die--- more than Uther would ever hope to condemn.”

“Except Camelot will not be leaderless.” She tilted her head superiorly. “I will be Queen.”

“Morgana…” Merlin scrambled to get his thoughts together, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he settled on, “And what of Arthur?”

Morgana’s mask fell and her features were twisted by rage. “Arthur! _Arthur_!” she screeched, “Arthur is as bigoted and cruel as his father yet you protect _him_!”  
“How can you say that?” Merlin asked, aghast. “Arthur is your friend, practically your brother! He cares for you, and yet you act as if he is a monster.”

“Because he would do the same to me if he knew I had magic!” Morgana cried, her fingers tightening around the staff. “He would be the first to send me to the pyre!”

“Arthur is not Uther! He wouldn’t do that!” But Merlin was unsure of his words. Yes, Arthur had made some progress in accepting magic, but he still firmly believed that it eventually corrupted the castor. The warlock wasn’t entirely sure what Arthur would do if he learned that one of his closest friends had magic, but he knew the prince’s reaction wouldn’t be good. That was one of the main reasons Merlin hadn’t even hinted at his own magic since Will had died.

“We both know he’s terrified of magic,” Morgana sneered, “And how could I ever take a chance on him when the person I trusted most tried to _kill me_.”

Merlin flinched back as if he had been struck. “I never wanted to poison you, love. I _had_ to.”

“Of course,” Morgana spat out, a snarl on her lips, “To save _Arthur_.”

“To save _Camelot_ ,” he corrected once again. “I would never choose Arthur over you.”

But the words felt heavy on his tongue, and he was unsure if they were true or not.

Something flickered in Morgana’s eyes but it was gone too fast for him to interpret. Still, it gave the warlock hope that he was getting through to her. Pushing on, he said, “I only poisoned you because hundreds of lives were at stake. The only way to save them was to destroy the vessel of the spell, and as much as it pained me, that vessel was you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Morgana ground out, “I wasn’t the vessel! I, of all people, would know!”

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked shrewdly. “The spell didn’t have to be performed with your consent; trust me, I checked. It could have been put on anything and then given to you. Did you eat or drink anything strange the day before? Did Morgause give you a charmed object like a necklace or bracelet? Did she do anything out of the ordinary?”

“She--she put a spell on me,” Morgana whispered, her voice sounding shaky and unsure, “I thought it was for my dreams since it put me to sleep, but she was so _vague_ , worse than usual.”

Merlin pounced on the words, seeing his opening. “Don’t you see what she’s doing, Morgana? Never telling you what she’s planning, making you do what she tells you to do, casting spells on you without your consent.” He took slow, careful steps toward her as if he was approaching a wounded animal. “She’s using you.”

Morgana was quick to defend her sister, and Merlin knew he had pushed too far when he saw the self-righteous rage in her eyes.

“Morgause would _never_ use me,” she snarled, “I am her apprentice, her sister, her _family_ . She loves me! The only person who has ever used me is _you,_ Merlin!”

Merlin flinched. “Love, listen to me---”

“No!” she shrieked, “You lost the right to call me that when you tried to kill me! You lost any right you had to me when you betrayed me!”

Morgana flung her arm out. “Áwierpe!”

Merlin couldn’t dodge the spell in time and was thrown backwards. He yelped when his back and shoulder collided harshly with the wall. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his shoulder and trying to will the pain away. After Morgause’s impromptu torture secession and the serket sting, Merlin wasn’t in the best of shape physically. He wouldn’t last long in a fight, not when he wasn’t even recovered from his last fight. Silently, he cursed himself for being so terrible at healing spells. He cursed out loud when he pulled his hand back and he saw the blood smeared across his palm. His stitches had reopened.

“Why are you even here, _Mer_ lin?” she sneered, taking the way Arthur usually said his name and twisting it into something hateful, “You can’t stop me. You can’t even fight me! What were you expecting to do? _Poison_ me? Sorry, I don’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“I was hoping to talk some sense into you,” Merlin snapped as he slowly pulled himself up, “But _clearly that_ was a lost cause.”

“Ha! The idiot thinks he’s making sense! Too bad Arthur isn’t here; he’d be so proud,” she mocked cruelly.

“Yeah, too bad he isn’t here.” Merlin looked her dead in the eyes before pointedly looking at the staff in her hands. “I’m sure he would have some choice words to say to you if he saw what you’re doing.”

Morgana visibly floundered for words, her mouth opening and closing unattractively, before proclaiming loudly, “I’m-- I’m not in the wrong here!”

“Not in the wrong?!” Merlin quoted back at her angrily, “Do you know how many people have died tonight? How many _will_ die? Morgana, _right now,_ you are performing necromancy, one of the darkest magiks in the world, and you are telling me _you are not in the wrong?!_ ”

Surprise flickered across her face, quickly followed by disbelief. “You’re lying! It’s not dark magic; it’s an ancient practice taught to all high priestesses!”

“I’m not lying, and this just proves my earlier point! She’s lying to you; she’s using you! Why else would she send you down here on a mission she _knew_ involved dark magic without telling you?!”

Morgana shook her head, but Merlin could see the faint hesitancy in her eyes. “No, no, you’re lying!” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know so much about necromancy, anyway? It’s not like _you_ can do magic with how scared you are of it.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t be a witch at all,” he snapped, “Your room still has scorch marks from the last time you were scared of your magic.”  
He knew his words were harsh and that he had let his temper get the best of him, but he was _sick_ of people thinking he was terrified of magic. It was a part of him and although he hid it, he never pretended to be frightened of it!

She shrieked at him, rage twisting her face into something ugly and frightening. Her magic reacted to her emotions, throwing him into the wall again and holding him there, several feet above the ground.

“I am not _scared_ !” Morgana screamed at him, emotion completely taking her over, “Fear is a sign of weakness, and weakness is pathetic and _I. Am. Not. PATHETIC!_ ”

Merlin stared at her with wide eyes as Morgana lost all control of her magic. Her hair swirled around her as if she was underwater, her magic pressed up against him oppressively, and her eyes glowed a constant gold.

“I am not weak! I am not pathetic! I am strong! I am confident! I am a leader and a high priestess in training! I am _in control!_ ”

“Morgana, love,” Merlin whispered, his voice soft but not pitying, no, never pitying, “Take a look at yourself. You’re not in control.”  
“I am.” Her voice shook.

“You’re not.”

“ _I am!_ ” Morgana screamed at him, her magic reverberating against the walls of the catacombs, causing them to shake violently and dust to float from the ceiling. Morgana didn’t seem to notice.

“Morgause is not using me; she’s not _manipulating_ me!” She spat the words out as if they personally offended her.  More dust fell from the ceiling.

“She’s teaching me how to be a leader, training me how to be a high priestess! She is the _the only one_ who is truly looking out for me and doing what’s best for me!”

The walls shook.

“We’re working together to make Camelot a just and peaceful place for all people! Magic users won’t be terrified for their lives whenever the citadel comes into view! We can bring magic back into the kingdom! I can do this; _I_ can protect these people!”

An ominous creaking noise sounded from the ceiling.

Merlin realized what was going to happen a second too late. “Morgana, watch out!”

Her wide, confused eyes met his for a second before they disappeared behind a cloud of dust and rubble. A startled scream echoed through the room and the magic that had been holding him up disappeared.

“Morgana? Morgana!”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and a protective shield formed around the area he knew Morgana was in an attempt to protect her from any more falling stones. When the rocks eventually stopped falling and all that was left in the air was dust, the warlock cautiously let down the shield.

Quiet coughs sounded in front of him, and Merlin scrambled towards the noise. “Morgana? Morgana, are you all right?”

Some stones shifted in front of him, allowing him to see Morgana’s grey, dust-covered hair.  He carefully began to pull rocks off of her, trying not to hurt her. Once she was mostly uncovered, Merlin started to gently feel her head and torso in order to make sure nothing major was broken before she swatted his hands away. “Pervert,” she grumbled as she gingerly sat up, “I always knew you’d take any chance to feel me up.”

Merlin glared at her half-heartedly. “You really shouldn’t be sitting up. You could have broken something or have a concussion. You shouldn’t move.”

“And you shouldn’t be an ass, but we all can’t get what we want.”

Merlin winced. “All right, I deserved that.”

Morgana nodded smartly. “Yes, you did---” She froze for a moment when she saw something hidden underneath the rubble before she was scrambling after it, much to Merlin’s distress.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she mumbled to herself as she carelessly shoved stones out of her way.

“Morgana, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, no, no, _NO!”_ she moaned as she pulled the top of the wooden staff out from underneath the rubble. She rushed to find the other half and piece them together.

“Come on. Come one, _please_ ,” Morgana whispered desperately as she pieced the ragged edges together. When that didn’t work, and the staff didn’t magically heal itself, the witch glared up at Merlin. “This is all _your_ fault!”

He took a step back. “ _My_ fault? That was _your_ magic that caused part of the ceiling to fall in!”

“You bastard!” Morgana shrieked, and Merlin tried to suppress a flinch at the wording. “Morgause finally let me help, but now I’ve _failed_ her, and it’s _your_ fault!” She clutched the broken staff to her chest. “Oh, Goddess, I’ve failed her.”

“Morgana,” Merlin said softly as he took a hesitant step forward. “It’s going to be all right. Everything will be all right.”

“ _Stop saying that_ ,” she growled at him. “You. It always comes back to you.” She set the staff pieces down. “Everything is _your_ fault. If you hadn’t been here this wouldn’t have happened. If you hadn’t have followed me the other night, Morgause wouldn’t be angry with me. If you hadn’t poisoned me, I wouldn’t have been forced into exile for a year, and I wouldn’t have lost---” she cut herself off before she finished the sentence. Merlin couldn’t help but wonder what she had been going to say, but the thought quickly fled his mind when he saw the pure malice on her face. “It’s all _your_ fault.”

A knife whistled past Merlin’s head.

“Holy shi-!”

Merlin ducked behind a tomb, his eyes wide. He hadn’t even seen Morgana throw it. The only reason the knife hadn’t impaled him was because his magic had protected him instinctively. The warlock could only hope that she hadn’t seen the flicker of gold in his eyes when his magic had reacted.

He heard the sound of a sword being drawn and he quickly looked around for a weapon of his own.

“Come out!” Morgana demanded. “Come out and face me!”

Making a face, Merlin reached into the tomb in front of him and pulled out a sword, noting thankfully that the skeleton had already left. The sword was old and slightly rusted but it would do in a pinch.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin abandoned his cover.

Not even a second later, he was dodging a blow from Morgana’s sword. Morgana was clearly the better swordsman, and it showed. Merlin was constantly on the defensive, (which didn’t say much, since he knew he could never bring himself to go on the offensive if it eventually led to him stabbing her with his sword) dodging and parrying blows to the best of his ability. But the more he defended himself, the more incised Morgana became.

“Stop dodging, and _fight me!_ ”

The words distracted him and a shallow gash appeared on his left arm. Cursing silently, he threw all of his attention into blocking the cascading blows.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

Another cut, this time deeper, too close to his wrist; it was affecting his fighting.

Morgana’s hair started swirling around her once more.

“Fight back!”

A bead of sweat dripped into his eye, momentarily blinding him.

Another cut, slicing across his stomach, but thankfully, not too incredibly deep.

Morgana’s eyes burned gold.

“I said, _fight back!_ ”

Her thrusts and blows became eradicate; her physical strength failing her but her magic becoming more pronounced in the fight by the minute.

“Fight back! Fight back! Why won’t you _fight back!?”_ The last word turned into a scream of rage, her eyes becoming a purer shade of gold than ever before. The ceiling creaked again and Merlin’s eyes widened in realization.

“Morgana, look out!”

He dropped his sword and grabbed Morgana’s wrist to keep her from stabbing him before shoving her backwards. Her gasp of surprise was almost drowned out by the sound of the rest of the ceiling collapsing. When the dust cleared, Merlin was straddling the witch, his face so close to hers that he could see every dark fleck in her eyes. One of her hands was pinned above her head by his own, the other trapped awkwardly behind her back. Morgana’s eyes were brimming with emotions and tears, and her voice shook.

“I am in control.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you guys think? How'd I do with Merlin's perspective, I was kinda worried about him. Did you guys like Gwen? I wanted to start putting more characters into the story and Gwen's just a sweetheart. And all of you better not bash Morgana at the end of the chapter because emotions are completely irrational and she's totally the person to blame her problems on some else. Anyway, I hope you all liked it! Don't be afraid to comment, and kisses to all of you who have before, you're all a bunch of sweethearts, thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you guys think? Good, bad, ugly? Let me know down there in that little white box! Oh, and just so you know, Morgana's lullaby is based off the lullaby in the Prince of Egypt. I changed some words, but I thought that it fit since both mothers were giving up their child in order to protect them.Thank you for reading!


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